Turning The Green Light

NORMAL KIDS

I don’t have kids but from time to time I get a chance to observe kids in the comfort of their native environs. It seems that a child’s awareness of a visitor’s presence puts them in a mood for entertaining. It’s a little like being at a zoo: there are a lot of people standing around watching every gesture made by these creatures, listening to every errant sound made purposefully or otherwise and delighting in the whole spectacle. Then someone feeds them and we all go home. Having many opportunities to watch these events has resulted in a resurrection of memories from the dusty photo albums of my brain. Recollections of my own weird childhood habits and idiosyncrasies sting with embarrassment. Some of them are shameful and others possibly punishable by law. I’m not quite sure where the habit of wearing sweatpants under jeans during all seasons of the year lies in that spectrum though.

HUH?

If you’re wondering, “Who ever did that” or “Did the author do that” then let me answer the question. I did that. Admitting this oddity is easy and maybe even surprising is the large number of “audiences” I have shared this with.

ONE YEAR

My yearlong journey of perpetual lower extremity warmth is one I recount with  affection. I love to tell the story as one may enjoy recalling memories of family vacations. Only, a more closely paralleled affection may be Bilbo Baggins’ love/enslavement to the One Ring.

My precious sweatpants served as a covert security blanket; one that was not clung to but did cling to me. My legs specifically: from my ankles loosely to my 10 year-old legs to my waist shielding me in an impenetrable armor against…something, I guess. I believe originally it was a decision based purely on utility.

WINTER

Winter can be very cold for a child like me who was thin…you know, regularly excluded from sports, I assume based solely on my “underweight for age group” diagnosis. I had the freakish talent of demonstrating in detail the anatomy of the thoracic cavity by simply taking in a deep breath. Sorry for the gross out.

So the sweatpants became a part of my daily routine in an attempt to stay warm. I was jealous of other kids not because their clothes were nicer than mine but more because those kids were not shivering.

SPRING

As the season changed and the added warmth was no longer necessary I was reluctant to part with my leg coverings that had accompanied my daily wardrobe for so long. Initially this was no problem because lots of kids transitioned slowly to shorts as the days grew warmer.  As the end of the school year approached, awkward moments of sweat drenched denim, and the smells and slippery plastic seats that accompanied these moments grew with ever increasing, rash- producing frequency.

SUMMER

When school was out I breathed a sigh of relief now that I would not be under the mounting suspicion of my teacher. Unfortunately, this would pale in comparison to the outright interrogations I received from my siblings. Still I was steadfast in my commitment to the sweatpants, as my resolve only grew stronger through adversity. The heat of summer, although suffocating, failed in its attempts to peel me from my sticky habit. The sweatpants were now a fixture and the familiarity was comforting if not comfortable.

THE SAGA OF THE SWEATPANTS

Apart from the scrutiny of my family there was heaviness to the habit. The ritual of the daily wearing was tedious. There was the need of cleaning but usually only done after many consecutive days of use. Toward the end of a cycle, when their freshness was no longer even a pale memory, the sweatpants would take on a staleness like that of a long vacated apartment after the rainy season. It was in those moments when despite the general unhealthiness of the situation I would steady my footing, put on the pants, and put out of my mind the reality that this was not normal and probably a problem. I kept my eyes fixed toward fall knowing cooler temperatures might quell my tensions and justify my use of multiple layers.

FALL

Once school started, a familiar anxiety that accompanied this time of year set in, but I was happy that my routine had endured through the summer months. Let me be clear, grades were not the source of my anxiety, I had conceded up front as I always had that my performance would be mediocre. My stress was generalized. There was some intangible energy associated with being around my peers that frightened me. Perhaps they were too much like me, always thinking what I was thinking and knowing what I was about because they were about the same things.

FINDING MY STRIDE

But not all of the same things…they did not know about my pants. Cotton-form confidence. Sounds like a geriatric underwear commercial. How could these sweatpants, so ridiculous and completely devoid of social benefit prop up my ego so effectively? I don’t know, but it did, and after a week or so I settled in and found my daily rhythm at school. I established where I would sit in class and more importantly at lunch and where I would spend my time during breaks. I was locked in and in full swing on another year at school and then suddenly and without warning I hated it. I despised the routine and the burden of such an unnecessary daily task. And on some unplanned day of the week and in unmemorable fashion I simply didn’t put them on. I stepped out of the house for the first time in almost a full year with only one pair of pants on, just like a normal person. I was now one of the billions who would stop at one pair, confident enough that a single layer of processed denim was adequate protection from the assaults of an average day.