If the Shoes Fit, Wear Them

By Jim Hagarty
2008

I used to mark many of the milestones in my life in relation to how I had finally come of age for this thing or the other.

It was all about getting to finally do things that were never available to you before.

Old enough to drive the tractor. Old enough to shave. And believe it or not, old enough to smoke. When I was young, the question was not, will it hurt his health but is he old enough. That was quite a big day when no one objected when you lit up – or downed a bottle of beer.

Then, of course, there was driving the car. And girlfriends.

But the real passage from boy to man came when my dad’s clothes fit me. To imagine, when you’re young, that you would ever grow so much as to be able to throw on his jacket or boots was just impossible.

Yet, the day came and while it was a big one for me, I never wondered for a moment what he must have thought about it, if he thought about it at all.

Now, as a dad myself, the milestones are recorded somewhat in reverse. You know the kids are growing – the clothing bills are enough evidence of that – but they’ll never catch up. Surely. These are people who you used to be able to carry around in the palm of one hand.

One day, you try on your son’s new shoes and find they are too big for you. Too big. That’s impossible. He gives you his old ones – hardly broken in – and they fit like a glove.

When you first saw those feet, each of them was about as big as your thumb. Now, they’re bigger than your feet.

Each generation, it seems, grows a little larger than the one before it. A little better looking. And very often, a little smarter too. As far as I know, my kids aren’t counting the days till they can smoke. And at this point anyway, they think that drugging and over-drinking hold no appeal.

They are more conscious of the importance of a good diet than I ever was.

I often feel a pang when I see another sign that the birds will fly from the nest someday not too many years down the road. But I take some consolation in being the beneficiary of the good taste in clothing with which both my dad and my son seem to have been blessed.

So for the next while, in any case, if you see a marked improvement in my attire, it might not be as a result of some sudden infusion of clothing sense on my part but a passage, once more, through the closet and drawers of another generation.

Author: Jim Hagarty

I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.