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Jewish World Review Oct. 19, 2001 / 2 Mar-Cheshvan, 5762
Lori Borgman
http://www.jewishworldreview.com -- I'm installing a lock on the door of our bedroom closet. The girls have been using our clothes for school spirit days again. It was homecoming at the high school last week, which meant the kids had an excuse to dress weird every day. The night before Seventies Day, I overheard one of them say, "There's not a decent Sonny and Cher outfit in here." "May I help you?" I asked. "Something in paisley would be nice," the youngest answered. "Doesn't Dad have a leisure suit?" "Sorry, fresh out," I said. Twenty minutes later, the youngest emerged in bell-bottom jeans and a loose-fitting faded cotton top. She looked anemic and bedraggled -- like a page straight out of my high school yearbook. I studied her and suddenly knew why my mother suffered from a throbbing headache four years running. The oldest daughter appeared wearing a fringed leather jacket. "There are a lot of memories in that jacket," I cautioned. "Concerts, parties, social unrest." The social unrest happened when I was 17 and stormed out of the house in a huff. The front door slammed shut on flying fringe and hurled me into evergreens by the front step. I looked up and saw Mom peering out the kitchen window. She was smiling. Wednesday was Celebrity Day. The girls were again rejecting my clothing, when in a fit of exasperation I yelled, "I insist you girls come out of the closet!" That's a phrase a mother uses with trepidation, but frankly I was getting defensive on behalf of my wardrobe. They broadened their search to every closet within a three-block range. The next morning, Olivia Newton-John from Grease sauntered into the kitchen in thug mode. She was dressed in black pleather pants, a black tank top and a leather jacket. She had big curly hair, eyeliner the width of a tire track and 2 pounds of charcoal gray eye shadow on each eye. I looked Olivia up and down and said, "I can't believe I am saying this to my own flesh and blood, but sweetie, that costume makes you look like a hussy." "No it doesn't," exclaimed her sister. "She looks GOOD!" This coming from a kid dressed like Tina Turner. Tina slings a 40-pound bookbag over her shoulder while balancing in 4-inch gold stiletto heels and wearing a wig so huge it brushes both sides of the door jam. The most frequently asked question she will hear during the school day is, "How's Ike?" On Thursday when I saw them head for my closet, I beat them to it and threw myself in front of the door. "We're dressing like farmers and country bumpkins tomorrow," the youngest said. " We told everyone you and Dad would have lots of stuff like that. Could we borrow plaid flannel shirts? A hat with fur lining or a quilted sleeveless jacket vest?" "We don't have any," I calmly said. "I am afraid you have your extremely stylish parents confused with the cast of Hee Haw."
Stunned and shocked, they shook their heads and slowly walked
away. I entered the closet, blew the dust off a John Deere cap and refolded
a faded pair of bib overalls. Some things just aren't for
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