Pajamas

Pajamas

Christmas

San Francisco, CA

December 1983

I am going to spend Christmas in San Francisco this year. I’m 27 years old. This is the first time I will not be spending Christmas with my family. I’m going to spend a few days with my friends in California. But the night before I leave I stop by my parents’ house to exchange gifts and have our own celebration. My mother hands me a package which I open and find beautiful silk pajamas. They are pearled color. There is also a raspberry colored robe in the box and matching slippers. The gift is lovely and more extravagant than my lifestyle.

“Dad says you’re never wear these pajamas,” my mother tells me, “but I told him he was wrong. I know you don’t spend money on pajamas. But I got them anyway because maybe now you’ll wear something nice like this instead of your old T-shirts”. You’re too old for that lifestyle.

“They’re beautiful” I tell her. “thanks. I’ll wear them tonight.”

“No, no, no” she says. “Save them for California. Where them in San Francisco with your friends. I want them to be nice when you go to visit your friends. Put them back in the box and put them right in your suitcase”.

So, I do. And then I went to California. And I came back. And a month later two of my friends who visited with me in California were now in Philadelphia.  so, we stop by to see my mother.

 “Mrs. Kelly”, Terry calls to her, “I have photos of our trip to California. Would you like to see your photos?”

“Yes”, my mother tells him and she sits next to him. He pulls up the first photo and it is a picture of me in bed wearing my new, beautiful pajamas.

“See daddy, “she says to my dad, “I told you she would wear them”.

 And Terry shows her the next picture. I am standing in the living room, wearing my robe and slippers.

“Look Daddy, she’s got the slippers on now. I should’ve bought these pajamas years ago. I didn’t know it was going to be this easy.”  She is so proud of herself for making a convert out of me.

There was a photo of me in the living room, in the kitchen, in the backyard, and at Fisherman’s Wharf, on the cable car, in Chinatown, at the Crooked Road, and on the Golden Gate Bridge. I was wearing my pajamas at all these places.

“What?  What? What are you doing? Why did you wear your pajamas outside? What are you crazy? Why did you do this?  What’s wrong with you? Why did you wear your pajamas outside?” She is shouting now and hyperventilating just a little bit.

“You told me to wear my pajamas in California and that’s what I did. I did exactly what you told me to do,” I responded so smugly.

“That’s it. Never again. I’m never buying your pajamas again. You are a brat. I’m not buying nice things for you anymore, And I am never, ever, going to buy you underwear either. Never!!!!”