My Son Jimbo
For those who never knew him …

Little guy (cont’d)

[Written by Jimbo's mother in her book "My Son Jimbo"]

When you gotta go….

Not wishing to stop every hour or so on our trips [with numerous kids], we always carried a tennis ball can with us. It was just the right size (or usually was, although there were times…..), had a cover so it could be empited later if the urge struck in the middle of heavy traffic, and was always available to this tennis playing family. Now how does a small boy tell the tennis ball can in the car from the one at the Columbus City Tournament where we’d gone to watch Holly play? You guessed it….

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About that same time on a trip he had to “tinkle” so somebody held the can for him while he lowered the elastic top of his shorts. When we had to stop suddenly, I turned to see if everything in back was okay–just as Jimbo lurched, let go his hold on his shorts, which promptly snapped up deflecting his aim … right into my face!

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It was two years later, at the Ohio State fair, that Jimbo went into the ladies room with me for the last time. It was at that moment that it suddenly dawned on him that there were no men there. Like all little boys, when you gotta go, you gotta go, so he dashed into a stall, and there he stayed. Every few minutes he opened the door a crack, but seeing ladies in the room he closed it quickly. As they left, new ones entered, and it looked like we’d be spending the day in the ladies room until I explained the situation to some incoming ladies, who waited outside for a minute. When the coast was clear, Jimbo burst forth and bee-lined for the door in mortification.