I Have Been Blessed

If you have noticed my Simpson-ized image on this blog, you'll assume that I am not a slender individual. For the most part, I'm okay with that.

For the most part.

As a child, I didn't enjoy clothes shopping. Well, what boy does? I liked flipping through the Christmas catalogs from Sears, JC Penney and Montgomery Ward (kids today have no idea what they missed - waiting for the catalog to appear to see all the possibilities of what Santa could bring), but I never looked at clothes.

But then, when I got into fifth-grade, something happened. I was forced to wear something. Red corduroy pants. My mom had purchased them in the "Husky" boys section at Sears (why couldn't they have had a Guess logo or something respectable on the back??), and she thought they would be "so nice and warm when it was cold outside." Well yeah... so is a coat, but I still don't wear it all the time.

The red wasn't really the worst part. The pants weren't made of Ronald McDonald's hair. They were more of a burgandy, as I recall. Kind of a dark red color. And let's me honest - corduroy is not slimming... especially when purchased in the Husky section.

No, the worst part was the sound that they made when I walked. It was kind of a whistling zipper tone - WHHHEEEZZZPPPP, WHHHHHEEEZZZZPPPP. Back and forth, left to right, over and over. You couldn't miss me coming down the halls of Ellettsville Elementary unless you were deaf.

Sadly, no one was.

I remember I was dressed in the red corduroy pants, with my brown work boots, a white collared shirt and a blue v-neck sweater. I believe my dad still utilized Vitalis, which I only remember feeling like water but never dried my hair - it just stayed slick the entire day. I had my part-to-the-right hair stuck indefinitely to my scalp. There I was - spit-shined, and ready for

business.

Dear Lord, what was going on here?

Over the years, my clothing options have evolved. College t-shirts and flannel pants were not really an option during my early-20s. I was going to school and working at a reputable place - a jewelry store - where the tie had to match the pants and the belt compliment the shoes. It was just the way it was.

I learned to iron, fold a hankerchief to be a "spot of color" in a sport coat, and use duct tape to put a temporary cuff in pants (yes, it can be done ladies and gentlemen). I never got to be a slob unless it was a Sunday afternoon or a night at home doing laundry.

So now, at 33... I like nice clothes. I just spent $100 on two shirts for work. I put them on and feel comfortable. They like me, and I like them. It's a good feeling. I like wearing clothes that make me look like an adult... maybe because I often feel like a little kid still.

The picture you see here is from 2005 when I went to a conference in NYC. I'm standing at Ground Zero, and it just felt... well, wrong, to smile. But, I like this picture. I look at it and I don't see the double chin or the wispy hair. I see a guy who appreciated the moment, and it's significance in our history as a people. I remember standing there for the picture and thinking "Don't be a dork, Jim," because I didn't want a shot of me enjoying the scenery.

Sometimes I don't want to be an adult. I like being lazy, and just doing what I want to do when I want to do it. I like being a little rambunctious, and maybe run with scissors for a few minutes. But, I know that deep-down I still have things that I need to do as a man. And that's ok, because I'm lucky enough - really, I'm blessed - to be able to do the things that I want to do. It's really ok.

Just as long as I don't have to wear those damn red corduroy pants ever again.