"I'm sorry if I sounded a little harsh, son, but you are 13 years old. You can't go off to junior high school with messy diapers and your thumb in your mouth."
Your father was right - you were thirteen, but it was some strange meaning of the age "thirteen" that you weren't familiar with. You were indeed sucking your thumb while you pooped profusely into an oversized Pampers diaper. You were also wearing a yellow Teletubbies t-shirt underneath a pair of denim shortalls with snaps in the crotch.
"Daddy, I big boy! I not pee-pee in my pants, look, I go potty now!" You waddled across the hall to the bathroom as fast as your spread out legs could take you, and, being uneducated in the ways of the potty, did not bother opening the snaps on your shortalls or removing your diaper. Instead, you sat on the urinal (yes, the urinal) and peed, your father watching you the whole time. Your Pampers leaked, soaking your shortalls, and when you finished, you stood up, and flushed, not knowing any better.
"Uh-oh, somebody's wet! Do you need your diapee changed?"
"Daddy, you silly. I no pee-pee."
"Oh yes you did," your father says, taking you away from the urinal and to the bathroom's changing table. He puts a few quarters in a dispenser above the table, and out pops two pairs of Huggies with complementary wipes. He stuffs one in his pocket, then unsnaps your soaked shortalls. "Wow, you sure did good! Your Pampers are sagging!" The seat of your diaper was almost dragging to your knees until it was untaped and removed. Your father wipes you down, and slips you into your dry Huggies Supremes. Your soaked shortalls seem to magically disappear, and out of nowhere, your father has a onesie for you to wear, and you do.
You are then lifted into his arms with ease, as if you weigh nothing. As you are carried out, you stare at your hands, which seem smaller than before. That's when you realize that you are no longer the infantile teen you previously were. Now, you are...