My son-in-law who lives and loves to tease me has found yet another problem I need to resolve. He sends a message with Paloma, "Tell Pat that she needs to start buying new clothes and quit wearing hand-me-downs.
I think it surprises him each time he's with me and I'm wearing an old bathing suit of my daughters or pants or a shirt he recognizes.
As the oldest child he doesn't remember being the recipient of hand-me-downs--but I do, and I love those worn-in, comfy clothes.
There were certain clothes of my older sisters that I coveted as a five-year-old. I clearly remember those clothes even to this day. I remember going to the fabric store the day my sister picked out cheetah-patterned material for the outside coat my mother would be sewing for her. She chose a blue satin lining.
It turned out to be a fabulous creation. A Marilyn Monroe classic. More chic than Parisian haute couture.
Like a cheetah, I kept my eye on this coat, longing for the seams to tighten on my sister's arms, for the coat to be deemed too short. Finally, it was mine, and a favorite photo is of my sister, a cousin and me, in the cold of Mt. Charleston sitting in front of the family cabin. I am wrapped in the cheetah coat. My expression is that of pure joy and I know it wasn't because of the fun we were having; it's because I was wearing the cheetah coat.
The same story goes for the red skirt with a thin red belt and a red and white horizontal-striped t-shirt. I had sandals that matched and couldn't wait to pair them. I didn't get to wear it for long; I think my sister, knowing that I was lying in wait held on to it longer than it fit.
This is where my big sister's dislike for me grew. She already resented the birth of a younger sibling. If possible, she would have sent me back. Bad enough. But when she had to pass on her best clothes, I think it threw her over the edge. It was painful to see her cheetah coat on my body.
This sister had great taste in clothing. Early on she had developed her fashion style. Because I only watched and waited for her clothes, I never developed my own taste and style. Even as adults when we would shop together, I would often buy the same outfit as her.
As an adult, I still inherited her clothes. Even if it had a hole in the pocket or the fabric was slightly worn, I was still delighted.
Living in different cities, it became easier for her to give her clothes to other people. She once donated her suits to an organization that was helping women enter the business world. I rarely received her hand-me-downs anymore--only once in a while would she save something very special just for me.
And then I had four daughters, all with a distinctive style of their own. Three of them taller than me. Over the years, we spent a small fortune on keeping them clothed. So when they outgrew something either physically or emotionally, I would look at that tennis skirt, or the board shorts, or that dress, and would ask, "Can I pull that off?"
I thought I was doing quite well wearing my daughter's hand-me -downs. They were comfy and emotionally satisfying with memories of seeing my daughters long ago wearing the clothes in my drawer. And it was economical.
Because I enjoyed wearing their clothes so much, one daughter started regularly cleaning out her closet and bringing me the big bags to sort through first. I found more than one treasure. Each time I dress in her hand-me-downs, I think of her. I think of her a lot.
Most recently, I spent two, almost, back-to-back weeks with my son-in-law. This is when he got the double dose of his wife's clothing worn by his mother-in-law. It was just too much for him. And he knows I can afford new clothes. But that's not the point. First, I don't like shopping. I don't like standing in front of those mirrors and fluorescent lights that magnify my age and my lumps.
But I can't change my love for hand-me-downs. The hiking and yoga pants, the forest green dress with the Peter Pan collar.
So a note to my son-in-law: Just smile when you see me in your wife's old pajamas. It must be jarring, but remember, I'm comfortable--even if you're not.
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