When seasons are in transition they silently urge us to take stock. Suddenly we remember that there are blankets in the cedar chest andwinter boots in the closet – boots that are now three sizes too smallfor little Johnny. And as old leaves drop to replenish new soil, GreatLakes Radio Consortium commentator Julia King takes a lesson from natureand tries to reuse the old:
Transcript
When seasons are in transition they silently urge us to take stock. Suddenly we
remember that there are blankets in the cedar chest and winter boots in the closet – boots
that are now three sizes too small for little Johnny. And as old leaves drop to replenish
new soil, Great Lakes Radio Consortium commentator Julia King takes a lesson from
nature and tries to reuse the old.
When the days grow shorter, leaves drop from the trees, and the air grows crisp, it’s That
Time again. “That Time” is when parents experience the joy of coming together with a
child and sorting through clothes for the next season.
“That Time” often means the presentation of the environmentally sound, economically
wise, age-old Hand-Me-Down. Hand-Me-Downs are wonderful clothes with history and
personality and also, they are free.
Parents, due to their genetic and fiscal make-up, love Hand-Me-Downs. Children, due to
an apparent desire to make their parents loony, hate Hand-Me-Downs. For better or
worse, the ritual goes something like this:
My up-to-this-minute perfectly healthy daughter puts on a pair of hot pink pants from her
cousin and suddenly she is unable to stand. Her legs wobble; her feet turn in; her head
begins to swirl in circles.
“They don’t fit! They don’t fit!” she screams like a hyena. I pretend not to notice. I pull
out shirts that will match the pants.
“Those are great!” I say. “Try this shirt.” The shirt immediately turns her spine to rubber.
Waves ripple through her body as she grabs for the tag in the back.
“It’s scratchy! It’s scratchy!” she says, like Jan in the Brady Bunch itching powder
episode. She hops up and down while I fawn over a pair of plaid overalls with a big rip
in the crotch.
“I can sew that up in no time!” I smile, pretending I can sew.
As one torturous outfit replaces the next, time begins to slow. Both parent and child are
sure we’ve been at this for days, months, maybe longer.
And then it happens:
“You ought to be grateful to have clothes at all!” I say. “Do you know there are children
with nothing to wear? Even in winter. No coats. No shoes. Nothing. How would you
like that?” I ask.
She would not like that, she concedes. I continue like the parents of untold generations
past, like the grown-ups on the Charlie Brown specials: “Wahwahwah LANDFILLS
OVERFLOWING wah, wah wah, EXPLOITED GARMENT WORKERS,
wahwahwah GRATITUDE.”
“OKAY!” She says. And it’s over. I’ve done my job; she’s done her job. There’s
nothing more to do – until spring comes.