Rags

Saturday was bath day. The older children got the clean water. The two girls stepped in first, then it was the three boys’ turn when we were done. Finally, Dad took care of the two younger ones while Mother bathed the baby in the kitchen sink. After our baths we put on our rags because earlier in the day the school clothes had been washed and put away for the next week. Our Sunday clothes were ironed and hung in the closets and we couldn't touched them until the morning.

Our raggy clothes had lost their prime but held a comfortable familiarity. The cotton fibers were soft to the touch. The holes were worn, tattered and occasionally revealing. No cloth with taffeta or lace ever made it to this pile of Saturday rags.

We loved evenings after our baths. It was a time to relax, share our stories, tease one another, read or play games. There was no chance we would go outside. Mother wouldn’t want the neighbors to see us. No chance of work because she wanted us to stay clean for Sunday services. In the twilight of Saturdays we wore our wonderful, comfortable rags.

When we were teens we moved to the city and with our new affluence adopted different traditions. We bathed daily in our middle class home. The younger children got their individual bath time while the teens preferred to shower. We always dressed properly when out in public. If we happened to be at home together for the evening we would talk, watch television together, or sing the latest popular songs. We didn’t dress quite as fancy for church on Sunday but on Saturdays we still wore our rags.

Our young rebellious college years of the 60’s were a blatant public display of tattered clothing. The formality of the establishment clearly abandoned, our outfits were tie-dyed, recycled, and patched. We flaunted our style and decorated our selves with flowers and beads. To show we were equal, open-minded and free we wore our rags in public.

By the time we got married and had children the hippies had become yuppies. We feverishly competed for status and wealth. Our clothing and public presentation required impeccability, fashion, and name brands. For the females it was artificial nails, colored hair and layers of clothing to prove to the planet that women had a place in a man’s world but when the work day was done and we unwound at home the clothes choosen for comfort were the soft supple cloth, of our faded yet memorable rags.

Now that we are retired we fear we will so fully immerse in comfort that we will not be able to present ourselves among our former colleagues. The gossip will be that we have forgotten how to groom because in our twilight years we won’t do anything we don’t want to do. We refuse to work and refuse to wear clothing that is uncomfortable. If we are not careful there may be reports that we are seen wandering about covered in artist’s paint or gardener’s dust in an old set of rags.