Once Again, It's About Choice

Sixty-year-old Sandy grew up in poverty. When she started talking about her childhood in Cleveland, her voice shifted into present tense.

"I'm the third of four girls, and we're all wearing donated clothes," she said over coffee last week. "We never know where the clothes are coming from. By the time they get to me, they're in rags.

"Every piece of clothing has somebody else's name in it, because the schools make you do that, you know, label all of your stuff. So I have to write my name under theirs."

She paused for a moment.

"Everybody knows," she said. "Everybody knows you're wearing somebody's old clothes. Nothing ever matches up. Your friends say, 'How come you're wearing the same skirt again? Don't you have another sweater?'

"Zippers are always broken, so you're using a bunch of safety pins to keep your skirt closed, your pants closed. You try to cover it with a sweater or a jacket. You turn wrong, the wind blows, and everyone sees the pins."

She takes a deep breath, finally switches to past tense.

"One time, when I was in seventh grade, I walked into school wearing a dress that was too tight. It had a hole under the arm. I wore an old sweater to cover it up. I looked like such a mess.

"I didn't make it to first period. I looked down at myself and thought, 'I can't pull this off. I can't do it today.'"

She told school officials she was sick and walked home.

"A popular boy asked me out once," she said. "I didn't go out with him, because I knew I wouldn't have a second outfit if he asked me again."

Sandy asked that I not use her full name because she didn't want to embarrass relatives. I asked to meet with her after she sent an email in response to my column about Michigan state Sen. Bruce Caswell, who had proposed that foster children be forced to buy used clothes with their meager government stipends.

Public outrage to Caswell's comments was swift. Within days, he had backpedaled. A statement on his website reads, in part:

"After a suggestion from a constituent, (Caswell) plans to draft an amendment to the proposal that would direct the state to work with major retailers to create a gift card program that would ensure the clothing allowance money only purchases clothing and shoes at their stores.

"'My sole goal in this proposal is to make sure that children receive the clothing allowance that the state has provided for them and not have it used for anything else,' said Caswell. ... 'If anyone else has a better idea on how we can ensure the money goes for clothing alone, I very much welcome those suggestions and urge you to share your ideas with me. I appreciate the input I have already received that has resulted in making the proposal better.'"

Some readers argued that Caswell's initial proposal was dead-on. There's nothing wrong with thrift shops, they said.

True enough. No one said there is.

Some said they like to shop at stores like Goodwill and The Salvation Army. Why not? When our youngest daughter was a teenager, she used to love using her baby-sitting money to shop for used clothes.

The difference is in having the option. If you voluntarily buy used clothes, it's a choice. If you are forced to do so and they are the only clothes you wear, it's a humiliation. And the pain can last a lifetime.

When Sandy graduated from high school, she immediately got a job that allowed her to buy the braces she desperately needed — and the new clothes she always had wanted. She's been married for 40 years.

"I have two sons," Sandy said. "I was sure to name them so they had the same initials, just in case they ever had to wear each other's clothes. And I always bought them the right size for their age. None of this 'growing into it' stuff. I didn't ever want them to be embarrassed like I was, to be judged by other kids like I was."

Before we parted, Sandy assured me that she does occasionally shop at thrift stores.

"You know, for furniture or vases," she said, smiling. "At the hospice resale shop or the (American Cancer Society's) Discovery Shop. Places like that."

Ever buy clothes there? I asked.

Her face fell.

"No, not clothes," she said. "Never clothes."

Connie Schultz is a Pulitzer Prize-winning columnist for The Plain Dealer in Cleveland and an essayist for Parade magazine. To find out more about Connie Schultz (cschultz@plaind.com) and read her past columns, please visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.

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