Childhood of the Travelling Pants.

This episode of "Zits" hit pretty close to home. As I struggle trying to inculcate my brood into the "real world", I'm reminded of the daunting job Sister Mom had. Borrowed credit cards and pants figured prominently. As a seventeen year old getting ready for Grad Night, I informed mom that the pants I had were wholly inadequate for the occasion. Might she purchase a new pair for her oldest child? With great reluctance she handed me her credit card. "Don't lose it, and don't spend too much". She might ought've defined "too much". Some slick salesman at one of the mall haberdasheries sold me the most expensive pair the store sold. The tally came to about fifty 1978 dollars. Correcting for inflation, in 2009 dollars that'd be... well, it was a lot of money, particularly for a single mother of two working as a community college librarian. To say that mom was upset would be an understatement.

"That salesman should be ashamed of himself", she offered. I doubted he was. "You need to march right back into that mall and take these pants back". Now, if you know anything about guys- particularly guys whose pride is stinging a little- you know that we don't take stuff back. I objected. "I like them, Mom". This was not, strictly speaking, true. I'm no fashion maven. I needed new pants because, well, it was Grad night, but pretty much my only requirement for pants, then and now, was that my ankles not show. "I like them, and I'm not taking them back". "David, they're way too expensive. You must take them back". I hunkered down. I also acted like a jerk. "Nope. I'm not doing it". I got a jar of change (maybe four or five bucks' worth) and pushed it at her. "This is all the money I have. Take it. And I'll tell you what: my 18th birthday is coming up in a couple of weeks. Just don't get me anything". "Fine", she said.

Grad Night was not that great. I'd stayed out all day with my buddy Russ harvesting oysters in Tampa Bay, and I was way sunburned. But I wore the pants. For my birthday, from mom I got what I'd asked for (and what I deserved): nothing. At least, that's how I remember it.