OF GOLD AND SILVER, MITTENS AND GLOVES

It's tough learning all the stuff you need to know early in life. Take colors for example. You're supposed to know the difference between boo, wewwow, and gween. And once you've got that down, they throw silver and gold at you. These two metallic sheens present a problem, because it is not always clear which color is which, at least not in my experience. Oh, when you were looking at both at the same time, you could tell the difference and probably attach the right name to the right color, but being presented with only one of was problematic. I think I tended to call either one of them gold. Well, gold is easier to say.

It is important to get the distinction straight before becoming a grownup. Referring to you dearly beloved's hair as silver instead of gold is likely to get you a good smack. I try to remind myself of this with the old song: "Mother you are growing old. Silver threads among the gold." No lady wants to be told she reminds you of your mother.

Maybe hair color isn't such an issue anymore. I was paying for my auto tags a while back rather intrigued by the young lady ahead of me who had jet-black hair done up in spikes with the last couple inches dyed a bright red. I suppose that's making a statement, but I don't know exactly what. At least the hair drew attention away from the bizarre silver chain (silver, not gold. Gold is out; silver is in) that stretched from her nose to her earlobe. Of course when I was growing up some of the older ladies had blue or purple tinted hair, but that was a much more subtle shading than the bubble-gum pink and turquoise I have seen in recent years.

Deciding what color my hair should be was never an issue for me. As I understand it, I started out with very light red hair which faded to blond of various nondescript shades and is now being replaced by sort of tarnished silver–at least in places where it hasn't fallen out all together.

As I recall in my youth (funny how I can remember stuff from my childhood, but not where I put my pen ten minutes ago), I also had trouble with the words gloves and mittens. I was quite aware that there were two types of hand covering. One clothed each finger independently, the other bunched the fingers together in something like a sock while protecting the thumb with its own little hiding place. Yes, I know the difference, I just didn't know which one was a mitten and which was a glove. This could be highly problematic when your mother asked you what you wanted to wear, gloves or mittens. What should you ask for? For that matter, it was a problem even if you could get the names straight. Which did you really want? Mittens kept your fingers warmer and were far easier to put on. With gloves you had to insert each finger into it's own place. There was always the hazard with leather gloves that the cloth lining would have pulled out of the fingers that the last time I had taken them off, and I would have to work the lining back into the fingers.

However, mittens had their own drawbacks. It was very difficult to hold things with a mittened hand. It was well nigh impossible if the mittens were made of some plastic faux-leather that stiffened in the cold so that your hands were frozen into position. If you dropped something, you had to take off a mitten to be able to get it off. But how were you to take of one mitten when the other hand was encased in the same inflexible material? The only solution was to grab the end of the mitten with your teeth and pull. But don't let any adult catch you doing that. They would have a fit about you wrecking your teeth.

Eventually one graduated permanently from mittens to gloves. Often with the graduation one also did without the clips that attached the mittens to the sleeves of one's jacket. Ah, this began a sad chapter in my life: losing gloves. I say gloves, but I don't mean a pair of gloves. Generally I lost one glove of a pair. I have no idea where they went to. Every winter I wore a path to the lost and found box in the principal's office to search for a missing glove. Never did I find one. I was not alone in losing things. The box was filled with articles of clothing mislaid by students. The most peculiar item, however, was a pair of pants. Now I could see losing a glove or hat or scarf, but how did one lose their pants at school. You'd think a person would notice. Wouldn't it be a little drafty?

Ah, losing things. That brings me back to my missing pen. I know it's around somewhere. I have not taken it out of my apartment. Nevertheless, it is gone. I have been losing things this way my whole life. Where you suppose it all goes–the pens, gloves, and socks? And isn't it strange that other things I have been able to keep possession of for years and years–like the 50 cent piece my Aunt Olga gave in 1962. Still have it. It's made of silver you know, 900 fine. And talking about silver is where this rambling episode started.

Whether you travel streets paved with gold or muddy trails through the woods, may the Lord God bless you on your way and greet you on your arrival.

Wayne