Mom, You Were Right About the Guess Jeans

The details are fuzzy.  I remember I was chatting with two girls right outside the gymnasium at church.  I'd guess I was in 4th or 5th grade, but I don't really remember what we were talking about or why.  One of the girls was a year older than me, had older siblings, and was impeccably cool.  All I remember about the conversation is one condescending sentence:

"You don't even know what Guess jeans are, do you?"

And I shrugged, said of course I knew what Guess jeans were, and wondered what the heck Guess jeans were.

See, I was--and let's face it, probably am--impeccably uncool.  I went to a--gasp--county school and had no older siblings to show me what clothing was stylish.  I was probably wearing a big sweater over stirrup pants or something equally flattering.  And I had to look like a big dork to these "sophisticated" middle schoolers.

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I didn't realize how ingrained this memory was until a few weeks ago, when my family was playing the game Loaded Questions (which I highly recommend if you're in a game-playing group).  The question posed to the group was, What one thing did you always wish you had as a kid? 

My answer:  Guess jeans.

My sister's answer?  "Real Birkenstocks."

And I had to laugh.  While my uncle had written a car, and others had written similarly big dream items, my sister and I apparently just longed for some name brand clothing.

My mom, sitting across the game table, cracked up. And I knew that our answers had a lot to do with her.  When we were growing up, she was pretty unconcerned about us being cool.  She wanted us to have friends, and she wanted us to be happy.  And we were.  But I wouldn't say she spent a lot of time worrying about my sense of style.  She certainly didn't worry about me getting some expensive jeans.

And for this I am extremely grateful.

Don't misunderstand--I have always been blessed and had more than I ever needed from my parents.  And this is not to say that we never indulged in an extra-nice outfit, backpack, etc.  But there were limits.  When we went shopping, we looked for good values.  We shopped the sale racks (despite more than a couple of moans from a bratty me).  We were couponers when couponing wasn't cool. 

My mom's shopping savvy passed down and I am a bargain-lover.  In these shopping trips, though, it wasn't what my mom did that made a lasting impression.  It was what she didn't do.  She didn't buy me things we couldn't afford for the sake of my coolness.  She didn't buy me inappropriate clothing because it was in style.  She simply wasn't worried about what those other kids, whose opinion seemed so all-important to me at the time, were wearing. 

As a result, I don't remember ever asking my mom for a pair of new Guess jeans.  I have to believe that is because I knew exactly how ridiculous such a request would sound.  "Mom, I really need a pair of jeans that cost more than almost any one item in your wardrobe."  Yeah, it was a lost cause.

Thank you, Mom.  Thank you for setting limits and for knowing what is important.  In a society where parents are ultra-concerned about their kids' popularity, resume, and style, I am constantly thankful for a Mom whose hopes for me were higher and who was undeterred by the protests of an aspiring middle schooler.

In counter-cultural fashion, my Mom knew better than her children--and knew that she knew better.

And, Mom, you were right.