Childhood clothes

 I remember quite a bit about the clothes I used to wear.  I think I had a fairly intimate relationship with my clothes.  This thought has never crossed my mind but I can't help think it's absolutely true.  

The earliest item I remember might be the sailor outfit I wore on special occasions and have a cute picture of me wearing when I must have been about 3 or so.

But the first shirt I really loved was a orange shirt with purple sleeves with, I believe, a puffy picture of Goofy doing something or other on the shirt.  

Another I remember is... oh, my goodness... so many clear memories are coming back.  It's crazy.  

The speedos I wore on the Westglen swim team.  Black with blue stripes across the front.  Somehow I didn't feel like a complete fool wearing those speedos.  

I remember the Coca-Cola shirt with the blue and green.  I was so embarrased to wear the shirt around my basketball coach in the 6th grade because I knew he worked for the Pepsi plant in town.  I was walking on egg shells hoping he would notice and say something about my Coca Cola shirt.  But I just thought that was the coolest shirt.  I kept my eyes on him so I was on the ready to turn away in case he started to read the logo on my shirt.  The kid seems so sensitive and fragile to the comments of this adult who I remember being nothing but kind and fun and had no agenda to make fun of me.  I'm very curious as to why I was so concerned about the chance he may say something that would point out my shirt.  

There were the green sweatpants that I received from Uncle Dave for Christmas.  I actually went in the car and waited until the party was over because I was so disappointed in my gift.  That car must have been freezing on that December but I hardly remember feeling a bit guilty for this seemingly immature act of defiance over being disappointed in a christmas gift.    I wonder if mom and dad were so strapped for money that they had to ask the relatives for clothes for us instead of toys.  How curious.  

Then there were the black Nikes that my mom brought home.  They had the gray/silver swoosh and the velcro strap.  I felt like a million bucks wearing those shoes.  

There was the white Selvidge basketball jersey that I washed with the wrong clothes that turned pink.  I  guess I learned the hard way.  I remember wondering if I would have to pay for it.  I must have looked kinda still in that thing but I was only a little bit concerned about thay.  Maybe mom was able to get some of the pink out and I just don't remember.  Because I don't remember wearing a pink jersey.  

Then there were the corduroy pants from the Clines boys.  Those things had to be 10 years out of style.  Some of them were ok but some of them were the ugliest brown and must have fit me terribly because I remember not liking the days that I had to wear them.  I remember being glad and feeling better about myself on the days that I could wear my blue jeans.  I remember drawing lines on those corduroy pants with either pencil or pen.  And sometimes a lot of drawing so that it was fairly noticiable.  I was pretty glad when I finally grew out of those corduroy pants.  

Those jammers rip-off shorts I work at camp.  I must have tried standing a dozen different way in  front of the mirror so the shorts would look just right on me to present a cool image to the other campers.  Yes, being accepted and cool was really important to that elementary and middle school kid.  

Reflecting on these stories I wonder if it's not so much the connection to the clothing that feels significant now, but that I can get in touch with the feelings that that kid and adolescent boy that I was experienced on regular occasion.  He was dealing with a lot of different feelings and focused on being the best version to present to others so he could gain acceptance, and probably avoid criticism too.   What I fear I must have had to be pointed out as different or having something wrong with me in the eyes of others.