I grew up the son of a forest ranger in the 70’s. We lived in mostly remote frontier outpost-like very small towns deep in the hearts of national forests. As a young boy I attended an elementary school that had 12 or so students. One teacher for first-through-fourth grades and one for fifth-through-eighth. Though it was not a church, the daily school bell was rung using a rope and swinging bell. The building was very ‘Little House on the Prairie’-esque. I’m not entirely sure that our teacher, Mr. Reeves, was a college educated professional but I liked him. He was a polio caused paraplegic who used special leg braces and crutches to be mobile.
As a family we lived very modestly on my father’s income. Every morning at 05:00 my father would ring an old cow bell to wake us and we had five or so minutes to get to the kitchen to sit around the table and read scriptures for 30 minutes while our breakfast cooked. Except for Saturdays, we had wheat pancakes and syrup on Saturday, our breakfast was cooked cracked wheat or oatmeal cereal with powdered milk and honey as mixers. Cooked cereals would stay with us longer into the day, minimizing the need for much more than a sandwich for lunch. I had two pair of shoes – church shoes and a pair of White brand logging boots with Vibram soles for durability. Today those same boots go for four to eight hundred dollars. They were rugged and lasted forever it seemed. Because I was young and growing, we bought them at least one size too big. When they’d no longer fit, they’d pass to my younger brother to finish wearing them out. Hand-me-down to him is what justified the boot splurge.
My mother, an excellent seamstress, sewed most of our clothes – especially jeans. She’d sew a small piece of red cloth into the seam of the right back pocket so they’d look like genuine Levi’s brand jeans. She’d also leave extra material in the pant waist and hem so they could be let-out to accommodate our growth. I never owned a genuine pair of Levi’s until I had mostly stopped growing taller. By then, I was a perfect 30-inch waist and 34-inch length. Even though there was extra material baked into the size of our clothes by my mother, she would carefully measure our size with an old yellow cloth seamstress measuring tape and let us know of our growth. Keeping track of our growth was kind of a ‘thing’ for us. Since then, thanks to my mother’s care in sizing us, I’ve always been able to go into any store and buy a pair of pants at my current waist size and 34-inch length and they’d fit off the shelf.
Fast forward from the 70’s to 2015. I saw a pair of pants on a man and wanted a pair like them. He had purchased them at a luxury men’s clothing store that I don’t shop but I wanted a pair enough that I would go to that store to get them. On our next trip to Las Vegas, my wife and I went the luxury brand store to find that pair of pants. We were helped by a rather proper and well put together saleswoman. Pointing to the pants I told her, “I would like this pant in a 36-inch waist and 34-inch length.” Didn’t even care if I tried them on since that size fits me perfectly. “Are they for you?” she asked. “Yes,” I replied. “You may be a 36-inch waist but you’re no 34-inch length, you’re a 32,” she said. “No, I’ve always been a 34,” I retorted. She politely but with the confidence that she knew better replied, “you’re not now nor have you ever been a 34 unless you like your pants baggy and too long.That’s an odd-ish size with not many body types fitting it, and you’re not that.” I felt a bit insulted but took two pair of pants to the fitting room that day. I walked out with a very expensive 32-inch length pair of pants. I’ve been 32 ever since.
I was cognitively dissonant for a period after that. I tried on 34’s and 32’s for a while every time I bought a pair of pants. Absolutely crushed the 34-inch testimony my mother had given me. For all those years I’d never even considered anything else. A wee bit loose and a wee bit long was fine and I’d never noticed or questioned it until I bumped into someone who I knew may know better. I could have stayed with 34 if I wanted to and no one would have ever noticed. But, I'd know.
Reminds me of another 34-inch testimony I had for so many years. Perhaps a wee bit loose and a wee bit long but never had reason to question it. Until one day somebody who Knows more taught me 32 is a better fit. It is.
Signed
John The-Not-So-Beloved
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