I buy stuff for a lifetime.
The other day my son was getting ready for school. He was trying to squeeze into an old pair of sneakers, but not having much luck getting his size 7 foot into his size 5 sneaker. I asked him why he was wearing those old things; he has at least three newer pairs.
“They’re my favorite. I just found them in the back of my closet while I was looking for something.”
I loosened up the laces for him, starting at the bottom, and somehow, he managed to get them on. He was smiling and happy, as though he rediscovered an old friend, which he had. We all have clothes like that. Things we just love. They feel right. They make us feel good about ourselves. Usually my wife won’t let me wear mine.
“How old are those things?” I asked him.
“Mom bought them last summer. They’re almost a year old.”
It started me thinking. “He thinks sneakers he got a year ago are old. Wait till he gets to be my age, then he’ll know what old clothes really are.” I looked down at the sweater I had on. It’s dark blue, has a yellow X across the front, red, white & blue nautical flags on each side, the word “navigator” sweeps in a white arch across the chest area and the left sleeve has yellow & red anchor on it. It’s 100% cotton. My daughter Amy bought it for herself at a Tommy Hilfiger outlet store when she was a freshman in college. She gave it too me after months of looking for it and finding it hidden in my bottom dresser drawer under three layers of sweaters and sweatshirts. That was eight years ago.
Next, I looked down at my feet. I had on a pair of “dusty bucks.” I bought them in Maine, on a trip I took, six years ago. I started to realize that all my “stuff” was ancient. “Hell, I’ve got boxer shorts older than my son.”
I’m not an old coot who wears the same thing everyday, a fashion flashback to the past. Well maybe a little, but I do buy new clothes every year. Everything I have on, as I write this, is less than six months old, except for my sneakers. They’ve become an old friend that I save for when I go for a speed walk or a run. I’ve had them for three years and I suspect they will be around for a few more. Yet, I guess, that a chronological inventory of my wardrobe would be like a walk through history.
I own a pair of LL Bean rubber boots that I bought in 1987. They get a ride on my feet when it snows and I have to shovel the driveway and sidewalk, but not more often than that. They look brand new, which they are, in old coot years, so I expect to have them as long as I live. And that’s the point. Most of what I buy will be a lifetime purchase. That thought hits me like a sledgehammer, but it’s true. I’m not outgrowing anything, though if I don’t get my willpower under control when facing a Sunday night pizza, I might need something new; something with an elastic waistband. I don’t wear anything out anymore, and a lot of stuff, like suits, ties and dress shirts, are seldom worn, so why replace them? The linen suit I bought for my daughter Wendy’s wedding nine years ago, has been out of the closet on only three occasions. The tux next to it gets an airing once a year, on a cruise, though last year I left it home. All my closet “friends” are like that. They will be with me till I die, even though I expect that event to be delayed till I’m well over 100. Old coots never die. They don’t even fade away. They just hang around forever wearing 30-year-old oxford cloth button down collar shirts, pleated kakis, loafers or buck shoes, yellow rain coats, black overcoats and never a hat, having learned from, and been inspired by John F Kennedy, the first president to attend his inauguration ceremony, bareheaded.
I’d better be careful about what I buy. It’s going to last me a lifetime
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