This is one of those “relentless challenge of parenting” gratitudes. Since there’s obviously a lot to be grateful for in facing the challenges of parenting and since my reflections on the theme will certainly continue, I’ve gone back to January to create a tag for parenting. Unless things change, the tag will be visible at the bottom of each post, as a few other tags already are. It’s not lost on me that I’m stepping one step closer to daddyblogging, which makes me increasingly self-aware of what I’m doing here. So as a quick reminder-to-self, this is a quick daily exercise of gratitude and writing by an unemployed guy with 3 kids. If anyone stumbles upon this and smells hints of Etsy fonts or live-laugh-love, please send help.
Hand me downs. Hand-me-downs? Handmedowns? Hammy Downs? As the youngest of 4 boys, I was typically at the bottom of the trickle-down passage of well-loved clothes… as well as other sturdier articles like bikes, sports equipment and better-constructed toys. As our older boy passes his favorite old garments to his younger brother (and occasionally sister), I’m reminded of my own mixed feelings about being on that receiving end. I recall that in some cases, I was excited to inherit something as soon as I could. Examples of this kind of excitement include waiting to grow into an older brother’s 3-quarter-sleeve 1984 Van Halen concert T (a concession from his first rock concert) or another brother’s impossibly cool pullover CB parka. Other times, my developing sensibility of cool told me that things like the color scheme or stripe pattern of a 10-year-old shirt or a way outdated dirt bike weren’t going to make me any new friends. Looking back, being involuntarily exposed to this eclectic tapestry of gear is what shaped my appreciation for quality, value, good design, and style. In my own opinion, I’m better for it.
Today, I put a shirt in the mail to a family friend. The shirt had been worn by 2 children of a mutual friend and all my three children. My wife asked later in the evening if I’d noticed the couple of grease stains on its front. I told her I hadn’t and upon quiet reflection just a moment later, decided that not only was I indifferent about passing on a stained heirloom, but that I was glad for the shirt to be passed with marks of prior use and kid character.
There’s something sad about seeing so many favorites of our older boy’s clothes not only shrink from his growing body, but then–seemingly even more quickly–pass through his brother’s wardrobe as well. At the same time… or as the sadness subsides, there is something equally gratifying about ensuring another cycle for outgrown clothes and other items, whether they’re handed down to a close friend or extended family member or a grateful responder to free ad. May the circle (only eventually) be unbroken!