My Real Life

The thing I remember the most about Back to School shopping is the smell of my new shoes.

I’d open the boxes over and over again, and I’d just inhale the scent of the new leather.

I’ve never forgotten that smell, and when I catch a whiff of it again, it takes me right back to my childhood.

When I was a kid, back to school clothes shopping was done in Ohio with my Grandma.

Every summer, because my parents worked, I would spend about 2 weeks at sleepaway camp, and then I would be shipped off, from NJ to Ohio, to spend about a month with my grandparents.

They were four of my favorite weeks of the year.

I’m pretty sure I’ve talked about my Grandma Lawrence before. She was my world when I was a kid, but I didn’t get to see her often enough at all because of where we both lived. So, when I would go out there for that month in the summer, we spent every second together.

We played cards, badminton, sat with the Avon lady and bought little perfumes and lip glosses, read books, watched tv, played board games, drove the Bookmobile, and I’d sit on the basement stairs and watch her do the neighbor ladies’ hair in the remnants of the beauty salon she used to run out of her house.

And every year, she took me shopping for my back to school clothes.

As a kid, it never dawned on me that she was doing this to help my parents out, financially. That it eased a heavy burden that was on their shoulders, as my Dad was working full time, but was also pursuing a degree in the city, and my Mom was working two jobs.

It probably wouldn’t have mattered, even if I had known, because as far as I was concerned, Grandma buying my back to school clothes made them…magical.

She would take me to the only department store that Ashtabula, Ohio had, at the time. Carlisle’s.

I can still remember exactly where the children’s and juniors sections were in that store, and the thrill I would get when we would walk through the doors.

She never said anything about whether she liked what I was buying. She just smiled and said “Are you sure?” and I’d consider and sometimes I’d say “No” and put it back, and sometimes I’d say “Yep” and move on.

I was careful not to buy more than I thought that she could afford, but she always encouraged me to pick up “one more thing” and I would happily do so.

White jeans with rainbow pinstripes.

Legwarmers.

Any 80’s kid clothing you can imagine, if I had it, it’s because my Grandma bought it for me.

And then there were the shoes.

The kids shoes were upstairs in this weird little alcove.

As much time as we spent in the clothing department, we spent double that in the kids shoes.

I could get one pair of sneakers and one pair of dress shoes and one pair of “other” shoes.

One year, the “other” shoes were capezios.

Another year they were jellies.

Yet another year, they were saddle shoes.

And for a few years, the “other” shoes were bucks.

I’d never wear them out of the store.

In fact, I’d never wear them until school started.

I kept the boxes shut tight, as if by keeping them closed, I could preserve the memory of shopping with my Grandma, knowing once they were out and on my feet, I was home and too many miles away from her.

But once school started, I wore them all, and was grateful to have them.

Now, my Mom and I take my kids clothes shopping, and it’s different.

First of all, Grandma lives three minutes away and they see her all the time.

And the mall where we shop is a mall where we shop at least four or five times a year.

Just like when I was a kid, my Mom takes them shopping to help me out with the expenses, and because she just loves “doing” for these children.

Maybe because it’s four of them at once and no one wants to wait while someone else is browsing.

The boys sit and feed dollars into the massage chairs in the mall while Monkey Girl searches for just the right thing in a few stores.

Monkey Girl browses on her phone while the boys try on endless pairs of pants, because long legs and tiny waists are hard to buy for.

Inevitably, someone gets grumpy, someone cries, and someone (I’m looking at you, Tiny) is always hungry.

But, that’s life with four kids.

So, yeah, it’s different, but the experience that my kids are having with my Mom has it’s own type of magic.

Every trip ends with cookies as we exit the mall, which is a part of the experience they ask about before we even get in the car to start the trip.

There are smiles and jokes and memories that are made, and reminisced about, every year.

“Remember when that guy tried to sell Monkey Girl a hair straightener and Grandma said ‘I’m the Grandma!’ in that crazy voice to the guy?”

Different memories than I had with my back to school shopping experiences, but cherished memories for my kids, nonetheless.

So, while the experience may be different, because times are different, and they are different, when they get home, these kids who normally don’t seem to know where their closets or dressers are, suddenly are hanging their new clothes, reverently, to preserve them for Day One.

And their new shoes?

They sit, preserved in their boxes, until that first day of school; I like to think, preserving the memory of the time spent with Grandma and Mom that one day, will be far in the past.