And So It Begins

I can remember as a kid making fun of some of my dad's clothes.

(Hell, I still do it now)

Yesterday evening, my own children took up the mantle and started ribbing me on my choice of apparel.

After dinner I changed out of the clothes I had worn to work and into shorts and a t-shirt.

Because we were just going to be handing around the house, I pulled on one of my old pairs of Umbro shorts that I wore when I played soccer in high school. They fit just as well now as when I worn them in high school. I thought they looked fine.

Emma and Zoe had other thoughts.

"I'm not used to you wearing such short shorts," was Emma's first observation.

(The shorts stop about 2 inches from my knee - hardly short-shorts)

Zoe joined in the critique of my choice in short pants, and all the way down the stairs they commented on how "different" and "strange" the shorts I was wearing were.

I didn't bother trying to tell them that when I was in high school and college, Umbro shorts were very popular to wear regardless of whether you played soccer or not.

When I sat down on the couch to read some books to both of them things got worse. The shorts slid up and the tiniest bit of the bottom of my boxer shorts could be seen.

Emma immediately launched into a rousing rendition of "I see London. I see France. . . ." while her younger sister giggled.

Seesh.

I almost feel sorry for how I treated my Dad, but he did own - and wear - a denim leisure suit.