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Hedonism, Perseverance and the Life of a Pair of Blue
Jeans.
"I have seen and done things you wouldn't believe.
What happens to all those memories when I die?
They're lost
like tears
in the rain."
-Rutger Hauer as Roy Batty
From the Feature Film "Blade Runner".
Hey, got an old pair of jeans that are just your favorite
ones in the whole world? You know, the ones that you either
have, or would, hide from your significant other so as to
keep them from being tossed into the garbage, or worse
still, the Salvation Army bag? (Perish the thought of
someone else ever wearing your beloved memories!) Well, when
you quit grinning with your fondness for that ol' pair of
jeans, go and put them on.
Yep, right now.
Go On!
I want you to be wearing them while you read this. If you've
since cut them into cut-offs, well then all the better! Go
on now, put 'em on! If they don't fit quite like they used
to, just leave 'em unbuttoned. I won't tell a soul.
I promise
I swear.
We both know the only reason they're a little tight right
now is because you've not worn them in a while and everybody
knows cotton shrinks with time. Huge Thanksgiving dinners
and beer-swilling Labor Day weekends have nothing to do with
it whatsoever!
Right?
Comfy? Great, let's roll! I wanted you to put those on for a
bunch of reasons. Firstly, for that smile on your face. Are
you lovin' it, or what? I know why you smile dear reader and
it's not just because you're comfortable. That leads to my
second reason for the quick change. It's that strange
ability of those jeans to parody a microchip. A chip that
store's some of your fondest, most endearing memories. One
that stirs up some of your innermost emotions.
You love these pantaloons.
They mean the world to you.
You cherish them and the memories they hold, both visible
and invisible.
Like the holes in the knees for instance, battle scars from
sliding across the grass that summer playing Frisbee. (Not
only a care-free fashion statement, but great in the
"surprise breeze" department as well!) The pinky-red
transmission fluid stain from the time you took a road trip
and found yourself playing the role of shade tree mechanic
in the middle of nowhere. (Remember when all gas stations
had garage bays and honest mechanics? If not, ask someone
born pre-1975. It was a better time, indeed.) We can't
forget the frayed pockets either. A waiving reminder of
every dollar you persevered to put into those pockets and
every one that you eagerly pulled out and tossed to the
winds of hedonism. Oh, and we have to mention the
crotch-seam patches and re-sewn belt loops so lovingly
tended to by a grandmother or sweet old tailor lady that you
entrusted to mend your beloved duds.
Remember the day you got them? Whether you found them under
your Christmas tree or hunted them down as a skilled shopper
at the mall, you knew you loved them as soon as you pulled
them on. They were a much darker indigo and just a little
stiff. Tight in some places and loose in others, still as
yet un-educated in the unique form of your lower
extremities. The first few times you wore them, they
pinched, bit and chafed you. You found yourself tugging and
adjusting them endlessly until that one glorious day when
they popped out of the dryer or off of the line and slid
over you like a custom made skin.
They made you feel good when you wore them.
They boosted your ego when you gazed at yourself gracing a
mirror somewhere.
They pumped you full of confidence each and every time you
caught some fine example of the opposite sex checking you
out as you walked through the pub or club or maybe even the
mall where you two first met. ("It's gotta be the jeans!"
You thought.)
By now though, they weren't just jeans, they were actually a
part of you.
You found yourself sometimes washing them twice a week so
that you could wear them more often. At first, you wore them
kind of like dress pants. Nice shirts or sweaters along with
new shoes of any color; all harmonizing with them to make an
ensemble that made your statement. Only the blue found in
blue jeans can so effortlessly match any color.
Strangely, almost sadly, the inevitable life cycle of ol'
Levi Strauss' wonderful creation was underway. The more you
wore them, the more comfortable they became. The more
comfortable you were in them, the more you wanted to wear
them. The more you wore them, the more you had to wash them
the paradox of their existence. As their life progressed,
they silently changed appearance, gallantly fading with each
spin cycle and stoically bearing the scars of carrying their
owner through life's trials and tribulations.
Eventually, you replaced them as "Dress" jeans with a new
pair, but your love of these jeans was stronger than ever.
You just couldn't wear them to a nice restaurant or out on a
blind date, lest you be looked upon as a person who was not
fashionably sensitive. (Read: You dress like a bum!) Not to
worry, they still had many days of usefulness to be had
while out with your buds or camping at your favorite spot.
Always perfect for errands or trips to the store. Shoot,
they'd probably even work on your second date for that
matter.
Then that dreaded day came
The day when your adventures finally left a scar that would
make the fashionably sensitive types turn up their noses in
disgust. A scar, in the form of a tear or a stain, that
couldn't be overlooked. Alas, the day of retirement from
"anytime" jeans had arrived.
Sure, you tried to sneak them out at night. But inevitably,
someone made a comment or an outright crack about their
state of wear. It would seem they didn't feel you were being
politically correct in your choice of garments for that
particular event. (Probably just jealous of you for being so
comfortable.) Your second skins had finally crossed the line
into that netherworld. You know the one. The one that slated
them to being worn only on your time. No devil-may-care
attitude on earth could now disguise their battle scars.
After all, who could possibly be turned on by that dingy
yellow mustard stain on the front thigh? Yup, the one that
not even half a bottle of Shout could get out. That one you
got when you almost rear-ended that guy while you tried to
mow down a burger on your way to the Carnival. (Who can
afford a burger at the Carnival?) You didn't even care who
saw it as you strutted down the midway; as far as anyone
knew, it was simply a medal for having so much fun on your
favorite ride! It was a badge proudly worn the whole day
through. All the places you could no longer wear them to
went racing through your mind as you scrubbed
and soaked
and pleaded with the stain.
Your prayer for it to at least fade
spoken in silent
desperation to the laundry Gods.
All that scrubbing
All that living
All that sacred and precious time spent in your favorite old
friends. You taught them how to fit you like a glove. You
showed them off and you showed off in them. You not only
washed them, I'll bet that you had a special spot just for
them in your drawer or closet, didn't you? In return, they
made you feel like a star! They protected you from the
mosquitoes before you got the bonfire up and blazing. They
saved your legs that time you slipped in the grocery store
parking lot. They kept you warm that night you left the
theatre and the temperature had fallen twenty degrees. They
felt like part of you whenever you wore them. They were part
of you even when you didn't. Going through so much together
had formed a bond without measure. They were part of the
family!
Funny thing, that bond between us and a pair of jeans.
Funnier still is how we ourselves are like a pair of jeans.
We come into this world shiny and new. We are rough around
the edges but everyone loves us. Without trying, we can be
annoying because we require a bit of attention and even more
patience. As we grow older, we begin to take our destined
form. We fearlessly face work and play with equal bravado.
We work hard to be able to enjoy ourselves as often as
possible. By and by, all that work and all that play
eventually take their toll. We start to fade, some more
apparently than others. When we are young, our material
thick, dark and new ... we are loved and accepted by all.
Adored by the elderly and accepted by our peers. As we begin
to fade, showing the scars of life, our look changes and we
find that the younger people start to treat us a little
differently
We're not as "cool" anymore.
Hero to zero, in just ten dryer cycles.
Most of the elderly treat us with distrust and many of our
peers try to be indifferent, lest they expose a weakness or,
Heaven forbid, they let us know that they are jealous.
During that fade from dark indigo to sky blue, we find that
we aren't accepted at all the places we had been only a few
years before. We discover many of our peers are so concerned
with gaining every else's approval that they will never give
us theirs.
Then comes that inevitable day, when we, like our beloved
jeans, are just too old to be accepted by everybody. Not
even the faded jeans feel comfortable around us.
We have become cut-offs
the final stage in our life cycle.
Oddly, we also might be at our most comfortable. Sure, we
sometimes long to be un-faded and tight. But then we realize
how uncomfortable that really was sometimes
how awkward
some of those moments were.
Then we start to reminisce about those sky-blue days. Those
days when we were the coolest and the world was our oyster.
The cut-offs envied us. The stiff newbie's looked up to us,
often emulating our style or our actions. As we bask in the
glow of those memories, we also remember all the scars that
came with those experiences. The thought of those lessons
brings us back to reality. This is the way it's supposed to
be. We, like our beloved jeans, have done our job. We have
lived our lives. We didn't see anything coming
we just did
our thing. Our life cycle was always underway from the
start, elegantly fading as we grew through our peak season.
Now, we can only hope that our efforts have earned the love
and respect of someone who will cherish us in our last days
as cut offs.
Before we knew it, all that experience
All that hedonism
All that perseverance
All that life
had taken its toll on our appearance.
The heart was still there. The soul was still there. More
importantly, all those memories were still there. But, when
you've been reduced to a pair of cut-offs, it's hard to find
adoration from even our closest friends and family
Let
alone, total strangers.
I think there's a lot to be learned here, from these
faithful old blue jeans. I think maybe we should see
ourselves in that very light we shine upon them
We know they're a bit tattered.
We know they're a bit torn.
The fading of the material is beyond evident.
The stains and patches, our medals of experience, stand out
against the sky blue skin we love with all our hearts.
We should each realize that we
are all we have. Everything
else is incidental. If only we could love ourselves like we
love those old jeans, I think it'd make facing our golden
years (and the rest of our lives for that matter!) a lot
easier. It might even make us look at cut offs with a
newfound respect and dark new indigo with a little more
patience. Where we are in our cycle is not in our control.
So, passing judgment on someone who's in a different stage
than ourselves is really a futile waste of energy.
When I was in my early twenty's and just beginning my
"broken in" phase, I went to pick up my girlfriend from her
job at a nursing home. She was running behind that day
because they were short handed. I wandered inside to see
what was keeping her. While I sat in the dayroom waiting for
her, I struck up a conversation with a gentleman in a
wheelchair. I was wearing a Civil Air Patrol t-shirt and
soon we were chatting away about airplanes. To my amazement,
he was not only a retired fighter and airline pilot, but he
had served in both World Wars.
As he spoke, I couldn't take my eyes off of his hands or his
eyes. As I listened to his stories about dogfights and being
taken prisoner in Germany after being shot down
By mistake
by one of our own bombers in bad weather; I found myself
hypnotized by the thought of all the things those hands had
touched or built or fixed in his eighty-odd years on this
planet. I was spellbound trying to even attempt imagining
all of the things his glassy, faded eyes had seen. I was
completely overwhelmed by these notions. This old pair of
cut-offs before me had seen, done, learned and lived things
that could fill pages and pages with truly amazing
adventure. His life cycle had been simply extraordinary!
Still, here he was
Like our old faded friends we barely, if ever, wear anymore
Sitting quietly in a drawer somewhere
Waiting for his final chapter
An amazing collection of memories
A collage of his interactions with mankind
The endless echoes of an exceptional lifetime
An entire collection of laughter, sadness, learning, travel,
love, pain, tatters, tears, frays and stains
the
well-earned badges of somebody's hero. I'm sure many
relished in his accomplishments. Now these well earned
medals lie hidden in plain sight, barely, if ever, noticed
by the busy nurses and doctors who where here to look after
him until he was passed on to that great Salvation Army
drop-off center in the sky.
See how alike we truly are
All of us and our favorite old
Blue Jeans? We relish in someone or some thing until it can
no longer serve us. We pamper, patch and coddle as long as
it's a means by which to preserve something near and dear to
us. But as soon as it's more trouble than we're ready to
deal with, we let go and move on. The love is still there,
but it would seem we've switched off the emotion that
usually goes along with it, like a switch. We won't "wear"
them for fear of embarrassment or the possibility of
confrontation. We fear disapproval. But inside, we cling to
our fierce allegiance to them.
Why do we hide it then?
Isn't that what true allegiance is all about?
Doesn't this expose a sad truth about ourselves?
Is it natural, or is it fear of non-acceptance disguised as
conformity?
No matter which
it's very sad.
That day changed something inside me forever. I left there
with a view of my own mortality I think few youths ever get
to behold. I think of him and that hour we spent together to
this day. You see, I went back the next afternoon to bring
him some Flying magazines I had laying around my house. He
had complained of the predictable boredom at the nursing
home and I thought they might cheer him up or at least let
this wise old pair of denims wander away from that dreary
place for a few precious moments. My heart was broken when I
was told by my girlfriend that he had passed away in his
sleep that very night. I sat in the chair where I had met
him and I read through the magazines I had brought for him,
his tales replaying in my mind. His eyes and his hands, all
the things they had done and seen, gone forever. My sense of
that loss numbed me to my very soul.
I so wanted to look into his eyes again.
I so wanted to study his hands again.
The very contemplation of the life he had led was
mind-boggling. When I left there, my
girlfriend asked me what was wrong. I couldn't explain even
if I'd wanted to. This was an epiphany for me
and me
alone.
Wherever he is, I hope he's flying
high and free.
I hope his eyes shine bright and clear once more.
I hope his hands are busy and content. But most of all
I
hope his jeans are soft and that they fit him like a glove.
Are you still comfy Dear Reader?
Good.
Are you still lovin' those jeans
or are they cut offs now?
Better still.
Not to worry, I'm sure there was no love lost when you
started washing your car with those snipped-off pant legs.
It doesn't matter.
What does matter is that you have lived in those jeans. You
have had some great times together
you and those denims.
You watched each others back and you looked good!
I hope that reading this made you feel even closer to them
and to yourself. But more so, to those people around you
that you love. As you can hopefully see, you aren't that
different from each other
you, the ones you love or those
comfy jeans. I also hope that this will help you to keep a
better eye on your own life cycle. Remember, you can't stop
or control it. All you are allowed to do is persevere.
And sometimes
you get to partake in a little hedonism.
But no matter what happens, they fade with every wash
With every experience
Just like you.
Take care not to be too brutal on yourself or your jeans.
Try and be more tolerant of other jeans too, no matter what
cycle they seem to be in and never
ever
loose touch with
just where you are at in that cycle
You or those sacred Blue Jeans.
-Jeff Gaines
Saturday, November 29, 2003
7:20 P.M.
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