He looks forward to a lifetime of streaking
File this under “What on earth was I thinking?”
A few days ago, sick of my clothes and wondering how a pair of black pants and a couple of sweaters can get up and walk away every winter, I decided to spend a Christmas gift certificate. Here was my mistake: I brought my 3 year old with me.
A minor stroke must have temporarily cut off circulation to the decision-making cortex of my brain. What else explains the thinking that bringing my son with me was a good idea? In my defense, it was pouring, we had nothing to do, and I felt like going shopping. I know?! Thank God I’m not a lawyer, right?
So off we went to Macy’s, where I promptly lost him in the racks of clothes, and began to panic when I couldn’t find him. I called out to him. Though I knew he couldn’t have gone far, there was no answer. Of course there wouldn’t be. You see, Z has an uncanny ability to ignore. He does it with such resolution and determination that you begin to doubt yourself. You think, Can’t you hear me? Didn’t I just say something? Well, maybe I didn’t, then.
If a tree fell in the forest, he would most certainly NOT hear it. Not if he didn’t want to. Even if he was standing right there.
Eventually I heard the thud-squeak of rain boots on linoleum and gathered him up. I found him holding the most hideous shirt ever, retrieved from the floor under a crowded. I’m sure it was hastily tossed down there as the last person who picked it up screamed out in horror. It looked like something he put together himself. He asked if I wanted it. He looked proud of picking it out. Of course I said yes. I was beginning to realize that shopping with him was a bad idea.
I figured the dressing room would be easier. I could corrall him in there and give him my phone to play with so I could try on a few things. Just a few. Is that too much to ask? Apparently, yes.
I tried on the ugly shirt first. I will say this to my son’s credit – he did not insist that I buy it. I have had this experience with my daughter. She once picked out a shirt for me to try on and was heartbroken when I said it was not my style. “Please stop crying, Honey,” I eventually said. “Actually, I think it is my style after all!” The glitter from that shirt still haunts my dresser.
I turned just for a second. It always starts that way, doesn’t it? The parents say “it was only a second” and something terrible happens. Thankfully, this wasn’t that terrible. It was embarrassing and now, kind of funny. So I turned back and before I could say “Why are you taking off your pullup?” the clothes and pullup were off.
At first it was funny. He just wanted to be naked and dance around to the dressing room music. When he dances he likes to wave his arms and shake his booty, sticking it out. The three-way mirrors gave him the ability to see that spectacle from all angles. That’s why they’re there, you know, so you can check out what your booty looks like. Smart boy.
Then he decided to try on clothes, so he put on a red sweater and danced around in that for a few minutes. He clearly enjoyed the silky feel on his…well, let me just tell you that you might not want to try on any red sweaters on the sale racks at the Lloyd Center Macy’s.
And then he got bored of that and took off. Just opened the door and ran. Nude. Through Macy’s.
He timed it well, too. I was in the middle of changing and couldn’t go after him quickly. By the time I whipped on my clothes he was already being led back to the dressing room by a nice sales associate who had tears running down her face. I loved her. She anticipated my panic and called out to me that she had him before I even saw her. She didn’t make me feel bad about irresponsibly letting my kid run around naked. She was alert enough to see him, catch him, and prevent me from having to retrieve my naked kid from the security office where they would be calling child protective services on me.
I don’t even know if they get commission there, but I made sure to ring up my purchases with her – while CARRYING my now-clothed kid so he didn’t run off again.
The whole thing just makes me realize that I have a bit of an odd job, raising this kid who prefers to be nude. I’ll have to teach him how to do it in a fun-not-creepy way. I think we’ll look into colleges that have streaking traditions so that he has an outlet for his art.