When Maturity Strikes

I have to admit, we have a pretty great kid.  True, the teen years have been trying at times, but every now and then our son, Joshua, takes a giant leap of maturity.  We first witnessed this when he achieved the rank of Eagle Scout in October 2016.  What an amazing day that was as we watched Joshua, no longer a little boy, stand before his leaders and peers and promise to do his duty to God and his country and to serve other people.

Of course, being an Eagle Scout wasn’t a magic fix against the angst of the teen years, and once in a while his Dad and I had to be the heavies in a situation.  People have complimented us on how well we raised Joshua, telling us what a pleasure he was to have around.  We tilted our heads, plastered on a smile, said thank you, and thought to ourselves you only say that because you don’t live with him.  We’ve learned to chalk it up to Joshua being a typical teen.

On occasion, however, he does something that shocks his father and me to the point that we can’t quit talking about it.  Like today, for example.  Joshua works at a local grocery store one or two days a week.  It’s his first job, and he takes it quite seriously.  Already he’s making comments that let us know the good work ethic we instilled in him is paying off.

As if working hard and earning his first turkey this Thanksgiving (he was so proud) wasn’t reward enough for me and my husband, Joshua said to me, “Hey, Mom.  Why don’t you give me the grocery list, and when I get off work, I’ll do the shopping.”  Imagine the few stunned seconds that preceded, “Oh, okay…”  Where did that come from?  I know he’s extended his employee discount to us (another fact about which he was proud), but to actually expend his own time and energy shopping for the family?  Has the lesson of caring for others finally sunk in?

I made an extremely detailed list for him including brand names and item counts.  He laughed at me, but he folded it up and placed it in his wallet.  We made sure he had a secure form of payment, another thing for which he must display the ultimate responsibility, and then his father dropped him off at work.  And as I mentioned above, we could not stop talking about it all day long.

William repeatedly wondered aloud what made him offer to do the shopping.  I got tears in my eyes and immediately envisioned Joshua as the CEO of a major corporation sitting behind a mahogany desk in his top-floor office with a picture of him working at his first job in a frame with a photocopy of his first paycheck.  If you don’t understand my leap in logic, you’re probably not a woman and possibly not a mother.  In any case, I built a little wiggle room into the grocery list in case he makes a small error, and I left the choosing of flavors for certain items up to him.  Let’s pray my coaching on how to pick a good apple sticks.

Now if we can just get him to pick up his room on a daily basis.

Bovine Fashion

Bovine FashionSeveral years ago, I believe it was around the time our son was still a baby, I learned that a new size had been created for women:  Size O. That’s amazing for two reasons. One, I’m pretty sure zero isn’t a size. In fact, zero is nothing. Two, I’ve been living among Americans all my life; I’ve seen how we eat. Who the heck is in need of Size O? I admit I may be incorrect about the date of invention of this stupidity. It may have occurred when I regained some weight when our son was eight, but whenever it took place, I remember it stood out to me because anything having to do with extra weight was a sore point for me.

I changed my initial impression when I realized that this was a brilliant piece of marketing, genius even. A little shifting of the numbers by clothes manufacturers and clothing designers could make a small percentage of women on the planet feel like the goddesses they believed themselves to be. Can you imagine the thrill of discovering you were now a Size O? The trickledown effect would be priceless as women sporting bigger sizes discovered they could wear a smaller size. Thank You God and Jenny Craig.

But wait, what about the plus-sized gal? Her clothing sizes didn’t seem to benefit from Size O. She was still segregated to the other side of the store, barred from the cute and darling world of Size O by a wall of clothing and mirrors. Oh sure, there were breaks in the wall where she could wander over to scan the jewelry, scarves, sunglasses, and shoes, but even her lingerie was kept in check by a plus-sized prejudice.

Our full-figured gal didn’t have to wait very long for the fashion gurus to re-emerge from their drawing boards with an even bigger piece of stupidity. Their intentions were good. So good that Satan was able to re-pave major portions of the Highway to Hell that receives much foot traffic from politicians. But I digress.

Picture this: I’m shopping in the plus-sized department, excited that I’m reaching the lower numbers as I shed weight, when I encountered a brand new clothing size.

“What is this?” I asked the young, thin, chipper sales clerk. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing on the tag in the shirt I held.

“Oh, that’s our new size.”

“What is it? It looks like a word.”

“Oh, that’s OX.”

“I’m sorry, what?”


I stared for a few incredulous seconds before I held the tag up and showed her. I spoke slowly to make sure she understood.

“Do you see that word right there?”


“Do you really think I’m going to feel better about myself having the word ox in my clothing?”

“Well, it’s a new size. Really. It’s smaller than X.”

“That’s funny, because X used to fit me just fine. You do realize the only thing that has occurred is a shifting of sizes?”

The poor child looked at me blankly. And truly, I didn’t mean to take it out on her. I guess I just wanted a little respect and better selections for full-figured women everywhere. Not insults to my intelligence in the form of OX.

%d bloggers like this: