Hand Me Down Rose

Growing up the youngest of three daughters in a dirt poor family, I frequently wore my sisters’ hand-me-downs.  Since Mama’s family was one of our church’s “charity cases”, we frequently received bags and boxes of clothing.  The happy result was that even though we were poor, we didn’t always look poor.   Usually we received the clothing with gladness, but I vividly recall a day when my proud 15-year-old self was not quite so grateful. 

It was a Saturday and Mama and I were assisting with a church-run rummage sale.  One of the kind older ladies from church came over carrying a suit that she was sure would be just perfect for me to wear on Sundays.  She handed me the most hideous outfit I had ever seen:  an icky hued orange knit skirt with matching 3-quarter-length sleeved jacket that looked like something someone’s old maid aunt would wear.  Reluctantly, I tried the thing on and looked in the mirror to find a frump staring back at me.  No way was I ever going to wear that in public!  The suit fitted me just fine, but I told a bald-faced lie to that sweet church lady and said it didn’t.  Decades later I still recall the shame of lying to that good woman.

I continue to wear hand-me-downs.  In fact, today I’m wearing black slacks that used to be my sister’s and a black sweater set that belonged to a dear friend.  They both have better taste than me, so I don’t mind their castoffs at all, especially since my sister relinquished the title of “Polyester Queen” several years ago.  About once a year my sister cleans out her closet and Voila …  I’ve got a spiffy new wardrobe!

Our children have learned to value second-hand clothes, as well.  As they were growing up, their dad and I told them we would pay the cost of a basic pair of jeans or shoes for them, but if they wanted to wear a designer label on their behinds or on their feet, then they would have to make up the difference in cost themselves.  It didn’t take long for them to discover that for the price of one piece of designer duds, they could almost buy an entire wardrobe of “regular” clothes.  If they just “had” to have a certain brand, they learned to shop at Goodwill  or Plato’s Closet or other clothing re-sell shops and nobody knew the difference.  It delights me to know that to this day none of our grown children crave designer clothing, especially now that they are paying for their own stuff. 

I recall a line from a long ago song: “Don’t give me no hand-me-down clothes; I’ve got some already.”  My response?  “Bring ‘em on!”