“Did your Daddy pick that out for you?” I asked Cole one morning as we were about to head out the door.
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered.
“Lamar!” I hollered. “He can’t wear that!”
“What’s wrong with it?” Lamar wanted to know. “It’s clean!”
“‘Clean’ is not the only prerequisite for clothing.”
Frustrated, I went to find Cole something that matched.
I try to make my child look nice and presentable – not like he is some ragamuffin who fell off a turnip truck. Just because it was Downy fresh didn’t mean it was appropriate.
“I don’t get why you worry about what he has on,” Lamar said as we headed to our destination – late, because I insisted on my child changing clothes. “He’s a little boy; folks don’t care what little boys have on.”
“I care,” I said. “And believe me. Other people notice.”
Believe me, other people definitely do. Once when Cole was around 4-years-old, Lamar took him to lunch, wearing a pair of boxer shorts and a t-shirt. While they were on their adventures, they ran into a lady Cole used to stay with. When she saw my child was out and about wearing his drawers as outer wear, she called me later to make sure I had not taken ill and needed a casserole.
Lamar has also given this child two different socks. Not just a short one and a tall one, we’re talking my child has worn one of my socks and one of his.
“No one sees what’s stuffed in a boot,” was Lamar’s reasoning.
“They sometimes have to take their shoes off in PE,” I tried explaining. “Do you want your son to be known as the one who wears ladies’ Halloween socks in February?”
Stripes with plaid.
Orange shirt with red shorts.
Inside out, backwards. As long as it was clean and covered what needed to be covered, Lamar would stick the child in it.
Sometimes, I don’t even think clean was really a priority, either.
“He wore that the other day,” I commented once, eyeing Cole’s attire as he ate breakfast.
“It’s clean,” Lamar replied.
A closer inspection revealed chocolate on the collar.
I think I put unrealistic fashion expectations on not just any man, but my husband.
He does not seem to worry about what he wears.
He told me once, I worry about that stuff enough for the both of us, which I don’t. I just think not looking like one dressed in the dark during an emergency evacuation is a reasonable, attainable goal.
Lamar blames me for always making us late, changing shoes, messing with my hair or finding the perfect earrings. But usually it is me trying to find my child clothes. A task that Lamar does in an effort to save me time, so I don’t have to do it. A vicious cycle.
Maybe guys are just different when it comes to clothes. You never hear men sitting around talking about whether or not low rise jeans made their muffin top worse, or if they hoped the Chevron pattern never went out because it hid their five-pound weight gain.
The only words I had ever heard my husband utter about clothes were: “This needs to be burned.”
He has cut the sleeves off long-sleeved shirts because he couldn’t find a short sleeved shirt. I didn’t notice until one evening as we were running errands, I asked what was wrong with the hem. He said nothing. He didn’t have to; he has cut up tons of his clothes. I have sworn one day, I was throwing away all of his clothes that had paint on them, or had been cut up in some Edward Scissorhands fashion.
“Then, I will just be going around naked,” he muttered.
Once my Uncle Bobby had to get my clothes ready for school. He put my chubby tater in a pair of corduroys and a striped shirt, which he forgot to take the iron off of and left the imprint on the back shoulder. I was such a train wreck, the children didn’t even make fun of me. Who puts a fat kid in vertical stripes and corduroys?
“Mama, why do you care about how we look when we go somewhere?” Cole wanted to know. “You won’t even run to the grocery store without your makeup and heels on.”
That was not true; I’ve been wearing flats here lately.
But they didn’t understand this whole “being presentable” concept.
For one thing, I don’t want us ending up on some “People of Walmart” Instagram account, with the caption: “Country come to town.”
I want my child to take pride in his appearance, which he does, but it shows that you respect yourself enough to take a few moments to pull together a simple outfit. You only get one chance to make a first impression – do you want that first impression to be you are on your way to a clown school audition?
“Baby, when you get older, you will be glad that I have taught you, this is important. On your first date, your first job interview. There will be tons of occasions you will be glad you understand it is important to look nice and care about what you are wearing.
It doesn’t have to be the trendiest, it doesn’t have to be the most expensive – just make sure it is clean, nice and looks well.”
Again, no stripes and plaids, I silently pleaded. You will give me a headache to look at it.
One day, he would get it.
And when he did, he could thank his mama.