You can imagine the scene. Cars stopped in the aisles, waiting for parking spaces to be vacated. Perfume saleswomen with too much make-up, spritzing unsuspecting customers as they pass. Christmas music piping through the intercoms, not the Muzak version from my days at Kline's, but Frank Sinatra and Taylor Swift and Elvis Presley. Babies crying. Vendors offering massages and facials and iPhone repairs in the center booths. Long lines at Starbuck's, longer lines in the shoe department at Macy's. Polite midwestern shoppers, faces drawn with tension, apologizing when they bump into you, eyes glazed.
The dark spirit of Christmas. Black Friday.
Well, the boots Sam wants are $180, and they were not on sale. $180! For shoes the kid will probably only fit into for a year. The Skecher's knock-offs are $70, but Skechers just aren't the same. In the end, Rich and I decided against it.
It is surprisingly difficult to say no to a kid, harder, in a way, with a kid who doesn't argue. When Sam realized that he wasn't going to get the Timberlands, he quietly asked to go home, and I felt a little miserable.
In the car, I told him that Emma had struggled at Greenhills because of the pressure to wear expensive designer clothing, Greenhills being full of kids from wealthy families.
"But don't we have money?" he asked.
"Sure, but designer labels just aren't important to me. That's not how I want to spend my money."
"But I'm in high school, and in high school, designer labels are important. It's important to me."
"But you're not spending your money. You're spending my money."
"Then why do we have iPhones instead of flip phones?"
"Because smart phones have a different function than flip phones. Skechers and Timberlands serve the same function."
"But the Timberlands are better quality."
"Yes, and if I thought you were done growing, that would be a great argument for the Timberlands. I might invest $180 in a pair of boots I thought you'd be able to wear for ten years. But not for a year."
A pause before the inevitable comparison. "Emma has Uggs."
"Yes, because Nannie got them for her for her birthday. It's the privilege of grandparents, if they so choose, to buy luxury items for their grandchildren. I might do the same for your kids someday. But that's not what parents do. At least, not what your parents do."
I told him that when Nannie was my mother, she wouldn't buy us designer clothes either. He had to hear the story about my sister, probably not for the first time, who so wanted a pair of Frye boots when we were in high school. My parents said she'd have to use her own money for that, so she got a job in the kitchen at Olga's. That was back when Olga's was in a converted gas station on the corner of State Street and Washington, where Buffalo Wild Wings is now. If I remember right, you stood in line and ordered at the counter, like a regular fast food restaurant. The floors were sticky, but we liked it because it was downtown and you could take the University bus there for free. Also, the pita was sweet and doughy. Anyway, Elizabeth got her job and bought herself those boots. She probably still has them.
All this as we are driving away from the mall, and the scarce parking, and the deep discounts, and the security guards and the milling crowds with their shopping bags and designer boots. I told Sam I'd be sending some of the money we didn't spend on Timberland boots to Food Gatherers, because people are hungry right here in Washtenaw County, the day after Thanksgiving. I'm sure he wasn't comforted, but he didn't complain. I think that's saying a lot, for a 16-year-old boy.
No comments:
Post a Comment