Hand Me Down, Hand Me Up, Hand Me Anything

The Little Jumper That Could

I was definitely a girl ahead of my time.  Long before “vintage” became trendy and someone coined the term “re-purposed,” I served as the poster child for sustainable, responsible consumerism.  That sounds high-principled, but it really just means I wore a lot of hand-me-downs. As the fifth of six children, much of my wardrobe and other stuff had previously belonged to one or more of my siblings. The undisputed Queen of Hand-Me-Downs, I took other people’s cast-offs with unembarrassed glee.

Living at the end of the distribution chain had its joys. Think about Christmas.  Not only did I get to open my own presents, I could watch my two older sisters open their gifts and savor the certainty that the keyless shoe skates would eventually make their way to me.  Time was on my side—that blue and white checked maxi dress would be mine.  All good things came (only slightly worse for the wear) to those who waited.

My family’s total mastery of the hand-me-down concept is embodied in the holy relic I fondly think of as The Little  Jumper That Could. If you look at each of our 1^st grade school photos you’ll see what I mean. There it is, the LJTC gracing my smiling oldest sister on picture day –purple corduroy, sweet floral ribbon trim and tiny round white buttons. Four years later it crops up in another school picture, this time on sister #2.  But wait, how did I luck out? I wore the Little Jumper That Could in TWO school pictures: first grade and second. By 1969, when the above photo was taken the jumper had faded to a weary lavender color and the ribbon had curled at the edges.

Sadly, the system sort of broke down when I hit adolescence. My feet would not stop growing. Tagged “gun boat feet” by my brothers, they quickly overtook my sisters’ dainty shoe sizes and threatened to take over the planet. No more hand-me-down shoes.  Oh, and then I got tall—taller than my oldest sister almost overnight.  Passing clothes down the line became senseless.

But I never outgrew my love for hand-me-downs. I still pick up interesting items from assorted family members. Most of my inherited attire these days actually comes from my daughters, Hand-Me-Ups   I love my Grandpa’s plaid Pendleton jacket. My Dad’s big gray sweater has become my writing attire—it’s keeping me warm right now.  Dad wore it so often that putting it on feels like summoning him to act as my muse. Sometimes it just feels like one of his hugs.  No trendy new sweater from H&M can do that. I like clothes with a little history, a little piece of someone I love, a couple of stories to tell. I like my hand-me-downs.

Where do you fall on the hand-me-down continuum? Rather die than wear used? Or do hand-me-downs make you happy?


This post originally appeared on The Peanut Gallery Speaks.
http://www.peanutgalleryspeaks.com/2011/03/hand-me-down-hand-me-up-hand-me-anything/