Parenting Solo

Please don't show your boxers to the world

(This column was first published August 22, 2004 in the Oakland Tribune.)

MY 17-YEAR-OLD SON, Matt, and I were golfing one hot Saturday evening this summer. The conversation of clothes came up in an abrupt way.

"Dad, untuck your shirt. And your shorts are way too tight. You need to buy some baggy shorts. And wear a belt. You're embarrassing me."

Golf for us at our local muni course is casual. Sometimes I wear untucked T-shirts, but on this day I was wearing a polo shirt. My shorts came down to my knees. Not the hot pants of my youth.

"Son, do I tell you how to dress? Do I tell you to tuck your shirt in? Or to pull up your drawers when they're dangling around your calves? No? Then don't tell me how to dress."

A few weeks later, he came home with a pair of khakis he had purchased for work with his birthday money. Matt is thin as a rail at 5-foot-10 and maybe 135 pounds. He was so proud of his new 34-inch waist pants. I teased him that they'd be around his ankles if he didn't wear a belt.

"Dad, you don't know how I wear my pants."

"Son, I wear a size 32, and if you have a 30-inch waist, it's a stretch. Those will never fit you."

"Dad, just leave me alone."

A few minutes later, he had already cut off the tag when he read the size: 36.

I laughed. "Did you even try them on in the store?"

"Noooo."

Undaunted and unwilling to give in to my suggestion that he take them back and get the right size, he washed them. The next day, he wore them to work, with rubber bands around his ankles to keep the cuffs from scraping the ground.

"They shrunk pretty good. I think they fit OK."

He didn't ask what I thought.

They looked like they were four sizes too big. I kept my mouth shut. But on the inside I chuckled.

Matt occasionally ribs me about my lack of fashion sense. I have about 10 wool suits and another dozen sport coats. Matching shirts and maybe 40 ties hang in my closet. My belts match my shoes. My shoes match the slacks, all with snazzy cuffs and pleats. All my suit pants have buttons for braces. I would never be caught dead wearing clip-on suspenders.

Shopping for Matt used to be easy. He went to a private school for eight years, and he wore uniforms every day. Drab tan, light blue and white (with ketchup stains) were all he knew. But in eighth grade, he transferred to a public school and discovered jeans, T-shirts, colors, stripes and patterns.

Until two years ago, I helped Matt pick out his clothes. But last summer, Matt got a job, and with his newfound wealth, the Ross, TJ Maxx and Marshalls stores no longer met his requirements. But my budget didn't allow for Echo, Abercrombie or Hollister.

So I gave him money for school clothes, drove him to the mall and sat in chairs reading while he shopped.

Now that he makes his own money, he is free to buy his own clothes, and he can drive himself to the mall.

Still, my prim and proper little boy sometimes looks like a cross between a hip-hopper and a country club golfer -- like most other teen-agers.

At his age, I looked like every other farmer in high school. I gained clothing independence when I went away to college and came back preppy, with turned up polo shirts and button-down collars. Matt is a senior in high school and a year away from going to college. I see that same independence in him.

Matt doesn't look as weird as other kids I see. He doesn't have any body piercings, purple hair or tattoos, so I don't fuss about clothes. I have two rules for school: wear a belt and don't show your boxers to the world.

Although that's a little difficult when you're wearing pants six sizes too big.

Doug Mead can be e-mailed at doug@parentingsolo.com.

posted by parentingsolo @ 3:03 PM