Apologies for the Hand-Me-Down Life!
As the youngest of three siblings, I was destined to be the recipient of hand-me-downs. My wardrobe was a parade of my older sisters’ clothes, regardless of whether they were trendy, tattered, or barely functional. I was perpetually about seven years behind the latest fashions with my garments, shoes, and whatever other accessories my mom deemed too good to buy new. I cruised on rusty bikes, danced in previously owned tap shoes, skated in well-used ice skates, and carried a Wonder Woman lunchbox long after it had lost its cool factor.
It was rough. I spent countless hours in toy stores and the girls’ clothing sections, dreaming of anything fresh. A new pair of socks? A shiny hair clip? I craved something—anything—new!
I promised myself that when I became a parent, my youngest would escape the same fate. No more frayed pants that I hemmed, then let out, then hemmed again. No more faded shirts that used to be white, mismatched pajamas, or pants with knees that looked like they’d been through a war. No more superhero underwear with holes, no chipped Thomas the Tank Engine toys, and no broken gadgets that had lost their charm.
Absolutely not! My youngest would enjoy the same perks as my oldest, complete with a treasure trove of brand-new, shiny items—dammit!
And then I had four boys. Four boys who all wore the same clothes! I mean, seriously, how could I not save and reuse everything?
So here we are, with my youngest sporting shorts dating back to 1999. Just last week, while folding laundry, I stumbled upon a shirt with four names scratched out on the tag—just ours remaining. That’s right: four families have passed that shirt along before it landed on my youngest. It could very well have been worn by eight kids. I consider that a major #ParentingWin.
I don’t feel an ounce of shame knowing my fourth child slept in a secondhand crib, wore cloth diapers that his older brothers had previously used, and played with blocks that had seen a decade of fun. Remember those expensive Stride Rite shoes I bought for my first child? They didn’t end up as some decorative piece; they ended up on my youngest’s feet, where they belong. He’s pushed around ancient toy cars, sipped from sippy cups with cracked lids, and played tee-ball in stained pants and worn-out cleats. He’s donned old Halloween costumes and even lugged backpacks bearing his brothers’ names.
Do I feel guilty about my hand-me-down kid? Not one bit. It’s so much simpler to unpack a box of clothes and toys than to drag a kid through a store. Plus, I can’t even begin to calculate how much money we’ve saved—it’s a mountain of cash. More lattes for me!
As for the kid who’s been the unfortunate target of my frugality? He’s taken it all in stride. When I do splurge and buy him something new, his gratitude is off the charts. He truly grasps the worth of possessions and understands that things are not just throwaways when something newer is desired. He knows how to repurpose, appreciates frugality, and maintains an attitude of thankfulness that, unfortunately, isn’t always shared by his luckier older brothers. That might just be the best outcome of having a hand-me-down kid.
And all those savings? I now know exactly where that money will go—toward bows, tutus, tea sets, baby dolls, and those cute patent leather Mary Janes for my first granddaughter. I think the true joy of grandchildren lies in ensuring they never have to wear hand-me-downs.
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In short, while my youngest may be living the hand-me-down life, he’s learning invaluable lessons in gratitude and resourcefulness. And as a bonus, I’m saving money for the fun stuff!