Conforming, or not.

I scrapped the idea of writing anything about the holidays because, well, I figured there was lots to read out there about the holidays.  “I am not going to do what every one else is doing” , I thought to myself.  That’s the way I am sometimes...a rebel.  I use to think it was charming to be someone who doesn’t always follow the rules.  Now, I’m less convinced.  Could it be that I have finally matured? Grown up? Become a conforming non-conformist?

When my son was a teenager, he and I had a few talks about conforming non-conformity.  I had this thing, you know, where I wanted him to dress a certain way, be a certain thing.  He had other ideas.  What he did not accept was that he was not an “original”.  Very few people are, truly, original.  I mean, and this is where he use to get pretty mad at me, if it is possible to find certain articles of clothing, say flannel shirts, then doesn’t that make wearing flannel shirts not original? If it is “popular” to go to Goodwill and find too small t-shirts with elementary school names on them, or city park and recreation league teams, isn’t that the norm? He and I had many discussions on “Clothes make the man, son” and he hated that phrase.  

I was pretty good about it though, and let a few pretty wild things walk out this door back then.  I wanted him to feel like he could express himself but not put himself in danger.  We traveled to Great America one October for Halloween.  In true style, he wore red pants and a brilliant orange windbreaker...and no doubt, his trademark tennis ball yellow sneakers.  The whole park was decorated for Halloween and ghouls, goblins, witches and vampires lurked.  He and his friend walked through the park, and I will admit...he was a standout.  One lovely young female vampire, standing on a pedestal, cloaked and pale, looked down upon him and said “My, my, you are a colorful little fellow, aren’t you?”  

The thing is, I love those memories about him.  He was fun.  He was fearless, in some ways.   I use to try to challenge him that wearing bright tennis ball yellow skateboard sneakers was not “original” if there was a company out there producing them.  He didn’t like it that I held that opinion, but I think he understood my point.   He was the only kid in school with them and I guess that made them original enough. 

A year or so later, he was feeling restless one night and took a stroll out of the house. Late.  Late, late.  He walked for a few miles and was stopped not far from arriving back home, by the police.  Seems a gas station convenience store was robbed and the “perpetrator” was seen wearing a black hooded sweatshirt, which is what he was wearing.  The police asked if he would go to the gas station convenience store for a possible identification.  Now, although some may have considered him a rebel, he was still a very polite young man, so he agreed.  The police took him to the clerk and had him repeat a phrase, which included calling her a name or two.  She replied the thief wasn’t him, as the thief had a noticeable speech impediment.  

"Besides," she said “He certainly wasn’t wearing THOSE shoes!”