When my uncle died, a package of his clothing found its way to our place. There was one pair of pants, made of stretchy navy material, definitely old man's clothing. They were probably too short for my brother, or perhaps my need was more dire. For two years they were my school pants. In the fall of grade eight, I recall falling and scraping my knee, ripping the pants in the process. Mom patched them to the best of her ability and they saw me through the rest of the year. They were ghastly and their bagged out knees didn't help my self esteem to grow at any time I wore them.
For my great eight graduation, Mom must have squirreled away a few shekels. We made a trip to the Met store and I came home the proud owner of a pair of brown plaid polyester dress pants. Looking back on my graduation photos, they were loud and did nothing for my pudgy physique, but I saw myself as the king of fashion.
|That's me second from left, front row|
That summer I had my first summer job and actually earned some money of my own. With my new financial independence, I purchased my first pair of wide leg Levi jeans, to start my high school career. It is amazing how quickly I forgot the stigma of wearing old worn out clothes. The first necessity with new Levis in 1975 was to bleach them in Javex about five times before you actually wore them in public.
And that's about all I have to say today.
Musings and meanderings from the Musical Gardener.