That First Suit

If I don't count the "leisure suit" I begged my mother to purchase for me back in middle school so I could "dress up" like my teammates on the basketball team on game days, I received my first "real" suit as a Christmas gift during my sophomore year of college. It wasn't a surprise, though. We had discussed the size and style and the fact that I wouldn't have been able to afford it on my own at the time.

It was probably the most bittersweet gift I have ever received.

My grandmother's health was failing, and she was losing her long battle with cancer. It was her wish that her grandsons carry her casket, which each of us promised her we would be honored to do. Of course, when we had those conversations with her years before her death, we had hoped that the day would never come.

It couldn't have been easy for my mother to purchase the suit she knew her son would wear when he carried her mother to her final resting place. It wasn't easy to receive it, either, but by then we both knew the day would come when I would need it.

I was working at one of the jobs I juggled in college, as a telemarketer for the West Virginia University Alumni Foundation. Because we were unable to accept incoming calls on the job, I had asked my roommate to contact my supervisor, Alice, if "the call" came. I had explained the situation to Alice so she understood what was going on. It was less than a month after those conversations that I received a tap on the shoulder from Alice, who quietly and compassionately said, "Your roommate is on the phone."

I don't remember much about the couple of days that followed. It was all pretty much a blur. I still can't believe it's been about 25 years since that day. May her memory be eternal.

The next thing I do remember is my mom straightening my tie and adjusting the lapels on that pinstriped suit as we were preparing to leave for the funeral. I remember her telling me how she had a difficult time deciding between black or gray, but decided on gray with the hope that I would get more use out of it "after." Which, eventually, I did.

In fact, I kept that suit for over a decade. Each time I wore it to a formal or a fancy affair, or a job interview, I would think back to the reason why it was purchased, the day on which I first wore it, the tears in my mother's eyes, and her determination to smile through her broken heart the first time she saw me in it. Part of me felt my grandmother with me when I wore it. The rest of me would start missing her at the mere site of it hanging in the closet.

Parting with it wasn't easy, either. I had to admit that I would never have a 32-inch waist again, and I was afraid that not seeing the suit would cause me to forget about that gift, that day, that promise, that look in my mother's eyes, and those memories.

I was wrong on one count: I haven't forgotten any of it.

I don't think I'm as strong as my mother, and I didn't want my son's first suit to be a reminder of a sad occasion. I had been invited to a co-worker's wedding, so took the opportunity to take my son shopping for a suit he could wear to the ceremony and reception. Because of his small size, we were pretty much limited to black or navy (he likes blue, so we went with navy). I told him to pick out two shirts and two ties that he'd like to wear with the suit. Below is one of the very hip choices that he made!

Lookin' good, eh?

Who knows, maybe he'll think about that suit again after it's time to part with it (I mean, God willing, he won't be a boys' size 14 forever!), how I surprised him with a shopping trip for some snazzy new duds, how many compliments he received by my friends and co-workers when he wore it to the wedding, and how happy he was to tell them that he picked the colors himself.

While I was ironing our shirts, yesterday, I had the chance to see our sizes side-by-side.

There's a very wise woman at church who reminded me that "we cannot parent with our shoes on." In order to keep things in perspective, we must take them off. Once we see our shoes beside the shoes of our children, it becomes quite clear that we can't fit into theirs, and they can't fill ours. I know couldn't take one step in his shoes, and mine would fall off of him well before he made it a mile in them.

Seeing these shirts hanging together made me think back to that coffee hour conversation.

I think this is the first wedding he's attended (he says he's been to one before, but can't seem to name the people who were being married). I'm sure it was his first Orthodox wedding (mine, too!), and it was a beautiful service.

Thank you, Tony and Katrina, for including David on the invitation, and for giving me a festive reason to purchase his first suit. Whether he remembers the reason he received it probably doesn't matter. I will remember that I purchased his first suit for a very happy occasion.

May God grant you both many years!