Being the youngest (of three) in the family, I’ve had my share of hand-me-downs.
Growing up, I could say I got my own knickers, cassette tapes (before there were even CDs), microphone, diary, and pencil case. Pretty much everything else I gave them new life.
I still own that green and white tennis shorts that were originally my Dad’s then my Mom’s then my sister’s then my brother’s then mine. Kept it for sentimental reasons.
The memorable memories with previously-loved things were the ones I had in school.
College days, almost everything were mine – except the collared shirts I pleaded my Dad to give me. They were his YSL shirts. It was not about the brand. I loved the patterns and the feel of them. They were really soft and comfortable. I wore them to death.
High school was spent in an all-girls school where my big sister had gone too. I missed the testing date for my first choice of school so I thought I could go to where my sister spent her “blossoming” days. I got her skirt. Luckily, my mom had kept it despite out six year gap. The skirt had a black and white plaid/checkered pattern and a very stiff feel to it. It had been treated to be like that so it won’t have to be ironed. It was bigger and longer too. I’d get in trouble with it because I used to fold down the waist part so it would fit and not fall down. Also, make it the length the school “desires”.
Sister was more curvy and taller than the “stick-y” me, so my Mom had to get me my own top.
I did get my dream shoes too. My very own black “felt” (suede) ballerina shoes — eventually.
The most memorable, if not most embarrassing memory, I have with hand-me-downs was in elementary. Me and my brother go to the same school. We were only a year apart.
The lucky ones I “inherited” from him were his pair of shoes. You know how boys could wear them out — in a day! I had worn “laughing” shoes – when walking, where the sole almost separates from the main shoe with your white-sock-clad foot exposed.
Then there was the time when I was Grade 6. A time when I was starting to feel self- conscious. It was my last year before I get on to high school.
I was in a dance. I don’t remember what it was for and what song. I have been in many.
We were practicing after school. One routine called for a no-holds-barred-kick-high-up-in-the-air move. I was lucky the few times I did it. But then the teacher said to give it all.
Now, my shoes were big on me. It was a black, leather pair. I had to wear two pairs of socks just to keep them.
Because I wanted to kick the highest, I gave my all. Shoe went flying up in the air — as if in slow motion. Hit the blackboard and fell down on the floor.