The duck pajamas

When I was in middle and high school, I wasn’t particularly interested in clothes. I mostly wore t-shirts and jeans, and the t-shirts weren’t even store-bought. They were free ones I got from various events and groups I was involved in. Clothes just weren’t my thing, and neither was shopping. I am sure I had many annoying habits, but asking my parents to continually buy me new clothes was not one of them.

Then one day when we were in the mall, I saw a pair of pajamas. They were light blue, with drawstring pants and a tank top, and they were covered with pictures of rubber ducks. I don’t know why, but I really, really wanted them.

My mom was reluctant to buy them for me. They were expensive, in the realm of pajamas, and I did not have a particular need for another pair of pajamas. So Mom said no.

Subsequent conversations went something like this:

--I would still like those duck pajamas, please.

--No, Katie. You cannot have those duck pajamas.

--Please, Mom? Please can I have the duck pajamas?

--No. No duck pajamas.

--Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?

--No.

--Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?

--Why do you want them so badly?

--I just do! Please can I have them? Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee—

--Ok, ok, fine! Just stop making that noise.

Due to my finely tuned persuasive abilities, I wore her down and she bought me the pajamas. She thought I’d wear them for a couple months, maybe a year, and then forget about them.

Ten years later, I was living in Chicago when my mother came to visit me. “Remember how badly I wanted those duck pajamas?” I asked her. She nodded. “Well, I still wear them,” I said, pulling them out of the drawer.

Another ten years later, and I still have the pajamas. I’m wearing them right now. They’ve moved with me through 10 different addresses over the course of 20 years. I’m quite sure they are the oldest piece of clothing I own.

This makes absolutely no sense. I did not often get my heart set on any particular thing I wanted when I was young. I have no particular affinity for rubber ducks. I never had one when I was little. Ernie was not my favorite Sesame Street character. (Can Grover get some love, people?) Also, pajamas are generally not made to hold up for 20 years.  And I only have a few random memories of wearing them. No strong sentimental attachments.

What’s up with these duck pajamas?

While I don’t necessarily think there is some deep-seated psychological explanation for everything, the fact that today is Halloween did get me thinking about it.

When I was in elementary school, my family passed down Halloween costumes. My sister would wear one, and the next year my cousin Kim would wear it, and then the next year I would wear it. This never bothered me. I don’t think it ever occurred to me that other kids picked their costumes each year. I just wore the costumes in order: the ghost, then the princess dress, then the gypsy, then… ok, I don’t remember any more, but there were at least six of them. Even later on, when it did become clearer to me that most kids picked their costumes each year, I was grateful to not have to make those choices. Too much pressure!

When Kim called one year to ask if I wanted to be a pair of dice for Halloween that year, I said sure. When a friend called to ask if I wanted to go as Riddler and Two-Face one year, I said sure. Happily skipping any choice-making was par for the course for me then. I didn’t like uncertainty. This is probably why I didn’t ask for a lot of stuff when I was a kid. That would mean picking something.

Then one day I saw the duck pajamas, and it just so happened that was the day it clicked for me. People pick out things they like, and sometimes they just get them because they like them. I like these pajamas. Maybe I could be ok with just having those pajamas and not having all the other pajamas. Maybe I could choose them. People do that.

So I begged for the pajamas, and I kept them for 20 years. Just because I like them. That’s the whole story.

It didn’t seem like such a big deal at the time. It still doesn’t, really. It’s kind of a lame story. But looking back at it now, through the lens of all I’ve learned about myself and my issues with anxiety, it does make a little more sense. There have been several episodes in my life when I’ve said to myself, “This is a thing that people do, and I can do this too.” Each episode has been a little breakthrough in understanding that not everything is as challenging as it seems.

So thanks, Mom, for the duck pajamas. I hope I wasn’t too obnoxious as I begged for them. I think maybe I was just startled to discover that I had my own opinions.