By Kiera Rich – KRich13@bellsouth.net
Last spring, when the rest of the world was buying flip-flops and shorts, I was buying fleece pajama pants. They were irresistible. Having grown up on the street — Sesame Street, that is – these cheerful pink pants with Sesame Street characters all over them were a “must buy” for me.
Besides, Kohl’s was practically giving the things away. I think, on sale with my additional “customer appreciation” discount and my “adults buying childish sleepwear” discount plus a few other discounts I still don’t know about, the pants cost a grand total of $1.95.
It was a bargain I couldn’t refuse; but, when I got the pants home, I promptly neglected them. Ernie, Bert, and friends hung out in my closet, alone and uncared for, for months. However, there really was a reason for my willful neglect of these childhood friends. I just didn’t need warm pants to get me through springtime in Atlanta. Which, in case you’re wondering, starts the day after Groundhog day.
I forgot about the pants until recently, when we entered the first cold-snap of fall. The leaves were swirling, the air was crisp, and I was freezing when I got out of the shower. Hello, cozy Sesame Street pants! They felt wonderful as I pulled them on. It was almost as though I could feel all of the love from my faithful childhood companions engulf me. I felt secure and very loved.
It was a short-lived feeling. When I took myself and my new pants to the living room, I was met by the the feline fashion police and they did not approve of my pants. In fact Wyatt, the youngest in our furry family, did not like my new pants one little bit.
Wyatt is definitely a mama’s cat. We always start our day by snuggling in the recliner. Then he spends the rest of the day (Sans the three hour afternoon nap.) following me around and begging for attention — or demanding attention when begging proves to be fruitless.
When, in the evenings, I go out of the bedroom after my shower, Wyatt usually treats the event like the second coming of Christmas morning. He gets so excited! In his unadulterated joy, he darts enthusiastically around my feet while talking to me in complete sentences that I really wish I could understand because I think they would be extremely fascinating or at the very least, entertaining. When I sit down on the sofa or in the recliner, Wyatt is instantly in my lap purring and making little muffins on my stomach. He is a very happy boy.
Except when he’s not. The first night of the monster pants, Wyatt wouldn’t have a thing to do with me. I chalked it up to feline oddity. Redundant, but true. The second time I wore the pants, Wyatt snubbed me again but the clincher was when I wore them for our morning snuggle time. Mornings to Wyatt are the most important “Mom time” of the day. That morning, I was not flatly ignored like I had been previously. Instead, he bowed up his plump little body and hissed at me.
I’m really at a loss as to why Wyatt hates my pants. I’ve wondered if they are too pink and they threaten his (Former?) masculinity. Could it be that he is afraid of the monsters? I mean, Grover, Elmo, Oscar and, the Cookie Monster hardly strike me the genuine scary monster-type. Besides, Ernie, Bert, and Big Bird are there to balance out the ticket. I even thought maybe he just didn’t like the feel of the material; but, even with a blanket on my lap Wyatt still knows the monsters are under there and he will not be in their presence.
My brain functions in a serious time delay. It’s nearly mid-November and my brain is still stuck on September. September 11th, in fact. I remember having the TV on this year on the morning of September 11th. The news was full of interviews and reports and memorial events commemorating the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001.
Although I was busy doing other things around the house, I was still listening to the reporters. It wasn’t long before there was a heaviness in my heart and tears in my eyes. I turned off the TV but my thoughts still swirled. My mind flashed back to the interview with the fire-fighter who had not only lost co-workers and friends, he lost his wife too. I remembered the images of the fliers that popped up in New York. A smiling face with the words, “Have you seen this man? He’s our father, husband, friend…please call…” My soul screamed at thought of the little kids who went to school that morning and at the end of the day, had nobody to pick them up. And then I thought of the orchestraters of that evil and wondered, “What did that firefighter…that husband, father, friend…that child ever do to you?”
It is a glimpse of evil that I still don’t have words to explain. A glimpse of evil that I still can’t comprehend. The twin towers are gone now. Some people think that closes a chapter and gives our nation a chance to move on. I’m not sure “moving on” is really an option for me. I think moving forward is but I do so with trepidation and caution.
There is a memorial rising, like a phoenix, from the ashes of the twin towers; but, I want to remember the site not as it is but as it was. I want to remember the images of melted steel, leaning walls, and smoky air. I want to remember.
It’s too easy for me to coast along in my sanitized life and not remember that evil exists because it is not currently affecting me. I don’t know about you but I prayed a lot after September 11th. I felt a deep, passionate need for God and for the comfort of my fellow man. September 11th changed me — some for the better and some for the worse.
Wyatt’s reaction to my pants has had me thinking a lot about evil. Because, even if we throw a blanket over it, evil is still there and we really need to remember that. Will you pray with me?
