Tuesday, October 14, 2026

Winnie the Pooh Day (An Iceman Story)

Every family carries its own canon of stories, but ours carries the Iceman — the man whose adventures freeze into memory and thaw only when retold on long roads, around camp tables, and in the quiet places where humor and grace meet. On October 14, Winnie the Pooh Day, one such tale rises again.

We were traveling to Philmont Scout Center — Vinny, Rachel, Dara, Nichol, and the rest of us — driving deep into the New Mexico backcountry for a week of training and adventure. The trip began in Kingman, where we stopped at McDonald’s. The kids grabbed a bright yellow Winnie the Pooh CD from the counter rack. We tossed it into the stereo and headed east, unaware that this innocent purchase was about to become legend.

Hours passed. Civilization thinned. The desert widened. And somewhere beyond the last reliable restroom, you felt the first tremor — the tightening, the warning, the unmistakable command. You announced it with the urgency of a man facing judgment:

“Really, really, really gotta poop.”

There was nowhere to stop. No gas stations. No rest areas. Only the long, indifferent wilderness. Then the Pooh theme song began to play — cheerful, innocent, oblivious. And you, sweating and desperate, sang in perfect rhythm with the CD, matching its melody with your own refrain:

“Really, really, really gotta poop…”

It became the soundtrack of the journey — your voice first, the CD second, the desert third.

By the time we reached Philmont — late, road‑weary, and spiritually shaken — we joined another family for the evening meal. Heads bowed for prayer. Silence settled.

And then Vinny, blessed with timing only he possesses, softly resumed the refrain you had created:

“Really, really, really gotta poop…”

The table froze. The prayer froze. And the moment entered the Iceman canon forever.