A Christmas Story

 

It was my favorite sweater.

It was long, black and it had buttons up the front. It had a belt I could tie around my waist. I could wear it with a t-shirt, and it was thin enough to not make me sweaty. In the winter on really cold nights, I would wear it to bed to stay warm.

It is embarrassing to reveal how old that sweater was. I think it was nearly 20 years old. I know my mom bought it for me and she sure got her money's worth on that one. A few years ago, I noticed it was a little too worn to wear outside the house. It had a few holes around the collar but nothing that prevented me from still wearing it. I lost the black belt that went with it but that was ok. Since I wasn't wearing it out, I used other belts I could find.

I don't know what I was thinking on Thanksgiving, when I wore that sweater over to my parents' house. I had been wearing a short-sleeved blouse and since it was warm that day, I only needed something light just in case. I immediately took the sweater off when I got to my parents' because it felt like a sauna since the turkey and sides were cooking in the oven. I put my sweater on the back of a chair.

Later that evening, when the oven was off and the indoor temperature finally reached a comfortable degree, I put my sweater back on. I did not know I had a large run going down the back. It was so long it extended past the collar and was clearly visible. My dad noticed it right away and quickly pointed it out.

I assured him I had other clothing that did not have holes. I said I just grabbed the sweater quickly when I was on my way out the door and I don't normally wear it out of the house. I thought the case on that subject was closed.

Once the house filled up with guests for dessert, again the temperature warmed up and I removed the holey sweater. Again, I put in on the back of a chair. My dad appeared and said, "I'm just going to take this sweater and put it on my bed in case someone wants to sit here."

I thought that was odd since there was no room for anyone to sit in that particular chair. It was part of the small dessert table and since there were so many desserts to choose from, the table was filled. A few minutes later, my sister and I noticed dad in his room inspecting my sweater. He was really giving it a thorough review and we weren't really sure why. I thought he might be interested in getting out the thread and needle.

The very next day, I called my parents to thank them for hosting Thanksgiving and I asked them how their day was. I expected them to have taken it easy since they had to be exhausted from the day before, but my dad said he just got home. He had been out all day. I asked him where he had to go, and he brushed it off and said he had some errands to run. My dad never goes out on Black Friday so I thought this was strange.  He sounded tired, so I wasn't going to keep him on the phone.

As we were saying our goodbyes, he said, "Make sure you check your side porch."

I went to the porch and there was a wrapped rectangular box leaning against the wall. There was a card attached to the box which looked ready to burst, like something bulky was hidden inside.

My dad wrote in the card, "Well, I think Santa's getting a bit senile. I thought it was Christmas Eve." Inside the box was a new black sweater. It was different from the one I had, but it was long and had buttons going down the front. My dad assured me, in the card, I could take it back if I didn't like it. He had asked for the advice of fellow shoppers to ensure his purchase would be ok. He had called my daughter to get her opinion as well.

 

I didn't take the sweater back. It seems like even after almost 50 years, my parents can't stop taking care of me. Maybe this sweater will last as long as the other one did.

*My blog is featured in The Valley Mirror Newspaper each week in the On My Mind column. The weekly publication covers the Steel Valley and Woodland Hills communities.

 

 

77 Is The New (I don't even know)

 

She had everyone's attention in an instant.

"Oh my gosh!" My sister yelled out from the other room.  "Check out Dolly Parton!"

Dolly performed during the halftime show at the Thanksgiving game between the Dallas Cowboys and the Washington Commanders. It was one of those moments when you just didn't know where to look. I felt weird looking up top and then I felt weird looking down below. My eyes were blinded by sequins, glitter and skin.

I remember seeing those iconic Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders when I was a kid. They were up there on the list of things I wanted to be when I grew up: Wonder Woman, Solid Gold Dancer and Dallas Cowboy cheerleader. (Of course, that was pre-Catholic school. By the mid 80's my sights turned to nun, Laura Ingalls, and Debbie Gibson. More clothes, less dancing.)

The average age of the most famous cheerleaders in the world is 25 but women can audition when they are 18 years of age. The oldest lady to put on the two-piece blue and white outfit was 37... not 77.

My mom was not a fan. Only a few years younger than Dolly, my mom could also rock that little two-piece outfit with the modifications Ms. Parton added. She wore a glittery leotard and hosiery that eliminated any bare skin being displayed. I am not sure she could have pulled this outfit choice off without those but maybe she could have? With that being said, what we saw is what Dolly has "touched up and tweaked" over the years. She is open about her plastic surgeries and use of Botox and Juvederm.

Here is the issue on my part. Dolly looked good. She really did. You could disagree with her choice, but she didn't embarrass herself in front of millions of people who were in a tryptophan comma after their turkey meal. But the debate at my parents' house was passionate and was an eye opener for my 19-year-old daughter. She sat in disbelief wondering why all the women in her life were so negative about Parton's outfit choice.

She and I talked about it the next day and I explained to her my point of view. It is not that I am against a 77-year-old dressing sexy, but knowing what I know about Dolly, it says to me, "If you have millions of dollars to spend on plastic surgery, you can look like this too." As I am approaching age 50, it is harder to find women in the public eye to relate to. I find it hard to believe chemicals and surgery are the only way to look fabulous at 50, 60 or even 70. 

I see the AARP magazines in my parents' house and there is no way these people look that good. Photoshop is amazing but it is used selectively. I compared two recent covers, one with "The Fonz" Henry Winkler (age 78) and the other with Diane Keaton (age 77). Henry looks his age. You can see the visible wisdom wrinkles on his face and his natural white hair. Diane on the other hand, her photo appears to be lightened to not draw attention to the wrinkles on her face and she is wearing a hat to cover up the wrinkles on her forehead. "Eh, where's Fonzie's hat?"

As a parent, I want things to be different for my daughter. She is already way more liberated than I was at her age, and I love her attitude about style and fashion, but she has pushed my limits as a conservative parent, especially last year when she bought a pair of black leather pants for her high school homecoming festivities. The Catholic girl in me was hyperventilating when my own personal Sandy from Grease arrived for the parade. (To be clear, her pants weren't skintight, and she had a sweater on instead of an off the shoulder low cut top.)

I was raised by Boomer parents. My daughter had hip Gen X'ers showing her the way. But these Boomers have turned the tables on aging and what we have come to expect. My parents look much younger than my grandparents did at the same age, and maybe I should adopt their playbook in aging gracefully and naturally.

The debate on ageism will continue but if somewhere there is a Solid Gold reboot in the works, I am not ruling out auditioning. Maybe Dolly can give me some advice. Anyone have her number?

 

*My blog is featured in The Valley Mirror Newspaper's On My Mind column. The Valley Mirror is a weekly publication which covers the Steel Valley and Woodland Hills communities. *

 

*Photo courtesy of People Magazine