Eccos Of The Past

"Pack of crazy fools!" yells Old Man Warner, a flat, yet important character in Shirley Jackson's short story "The Lottery." Warner, of course, is referring to people who live in his fictional village who want to rid themselves of the proverbial "lottery" where, each year, denizens of the village pick pieces of paper one by one, hoping and praying their piece is not smudged with the likes of a black charcoal spot. The individual who does in fact choose the "black spot" has the dubious honor of being stoned to death by all the villagers. One by one, the citizens gather rocks and stones the size of softballs, and head toward this year's unlucky participant--Tessie Hutchinson. "It isnt fair!" she screams as the villagers--including her husband and her small children--close in on her, hands brimming with freshly picked rocks. The last line of the story reads, quite chillingly, "they were upon her." It ends there.

Immediately, hands go up. "Why did they do that?" "What is the reason they kill her?" "Why do they murder an innocent person each year?" Is it their religion? Is it population control? Is it superstition? The students (and me too!) are puzzled as to the reason for the event. The REASON, I tell them, is nothing more than the fact that it is "tradition" and its the way its always been done. That, and that only, is the reason--it is the way its always been done. I ask them: how many of us hold onto traditions that, although they may be wrong, immoral, silly, or pointless, we still honor them with utter solemnity. I dont use those words though. When I say "utter" they think I'm talking about a cow. Students respond with things like daylight savings time--we have always "done" it . . .but why? Or, why are bunnies associated with Easter . . .and whats the deal with them laying eggs?? Again . . .we are surrounded by traditions that are COMFORTABLE, so we dont want to change. The people of the "stoner" village dont want to change--they are comfortable in their traditions.

I bring up clothes, always, during this discussion. How many of you, I ask, have clothes, hats, or footwear that you KNOW you should get rid of, but you are too "comfortable" in your "tradition" of the garments to rid of them? I tell the story of my UNH rugby shirts, smeared with paint, that I keep anyway, just because of the memory attached to them.

Our clothing creates so many memories for us--there are some shirts and some sweaters that remind me of key moments of my life--a Red Sox hat from a glorious summer, and a sweater collection from the first winter I underwent chemotherapy. Pictured above is a long sleeve Mighty Mighty Bosstones t-shirt. I bought it at NewburyComics almost exactly one week before I was diagnosed with Lymphoma. I was with Johnny and Jay on one of our weekly "Friday Night Club" trips. I still wear it--it has holes in the sleeves, rips on the seams, and unmovable yellow "pit stains" from countless runs and weight training sessions. Why dont I get rid of it? Have clothes become my "lottery?" My wife thinks so: we have a cute little game where she tries to throw away clothes she thinks are gross. This shirt is one of them. But there are simply too many memories attached to get rid of some things.

Onto the pair of Eccos. My mom bought these shoes for me when I was a senior in high school. This was almost 12 years ago. The shoes, at the time, were about 200 dollars. Now, new, they are 300. They are the best shoes I have ever owned, hands down. But they are, sadly, unfixable. I went to "Babe's shoe repair" a month or so ago to ask the man himself what he could do for a wonderful pair of old shoes in need of some new soul (soles). Babe, an old world cobbler and a blueberry farmer, a man into conservation, recycling, and fixing instead of buying new, flatly said "nothing." Its sad, he remarked, that Ecco has chosen to make a type of sole that, in the shoe business, is unfixable--some technical thing about the sole being attached to the shoe itself or whatever. Ecco, he explained, counts on our materialistic culture to just go "buy new" instead of trying to fix what is wrong; they purposely made their shoes "unresolable." I just invented a word. How sad (the shoe situation, not the word). But I refuse to give up. I love these shoes. I have them in my closet and cannot seem to part with them. They're the shoes I've always had and for some corny reason they mean an awful lot to me. When I DO wear them, chunks of some type of polyurethane gellous substance break off wherever I walk. It is time for them to go.

What can't you let go of? Search your drawers, your closets, your boxes. There are stories to be told about what we are made of. Perhaps you, like me, are part of the "pack of crazy fools" too.