Overall

“Mom!” I remember yelling, dancing around so much that she could barely grab the buttons. “Hurry! Hurry! I have to pee!”

Eventually she got a handle on both buttons and unhooked them from the contraption. I grabbed my now falling-down overalls and shuffled to the bathroom so that I could pee.

I only remember the one pair of overalls. I wonder if I had any more. Was it a fashion trend for poor kids in the southwest back then? Or was it simply a garment bred out of functionality? As long as the straps stayed fastened over the shoulders, it didn’t matter how big the rest of the garment was. In fact, had the peeing thing not been a problem, I probably could have gotten five more years out of those things.

I don’t remember exactly how big they were. I was a skinny kid so chances are that someone else could have climbed inside with me and there would still be enough room.

My parents used to give me a weight gainer shake. It was in a big, black tub that said something like “Mass Gainer Maxx!” I’m sure you can find its descendents in GNC today. All that whey protein and fat and whatever else was in there did nothing. I was “skin and bones” as Grandma used to say.

Grandma tried to remedy the situation with more(ish) natural weight gainers. “Yous want some ice cream?” she would ask multiple times a day. “Yous want some dessert/cake/pie/brownies/etc.?”

Grandma always looked out for me. Well, by always, I mean the two times I was able to visit her when I was a child. She bought me toys, fed me lots, gave me hugs, and even tolerated the drawings I’d make for her of dead camels and no-smoking signs. He didn’t stop smoking though. She smiled meekly once after I gave her a drawing and said something like “Thanks, that’s a nice drawing.”

“Can I have pop?” I don’t remember if I just didn’t know how to continue the conversation or if my 5 year old attention span just jumped to the next sugar-filled thought. Either way, that was my next question.

“Sure,” she pointed to the other room. I went into the living room which I thought was a strange place to keep the pop. But then I recalled my home–trailer–back in the southwest where we kept bottles of all kinds on the floor where the living room met the kitchen. I searched and searched. No pop.

I went back to Grandma and told her that I could not find the pop. She told me again that pop was in the living room. I went back in. Searched. Came back empty handed, frustrated. Was I blind? Incompetent? Why didn’t I see it?

Grandma led me back into the living room. She pointed at Grandpa who was watching TV in his recliner. “There’s Pop Pop.” I now call it soda.

Grandpa used to love telling me stories of his crazy, and likely very embellished life. He was a boxer, almost recruited by the Brooklyn Dodgers (before the team moved), and was involved in some sketchy heist situations.

I visited him more frequently when I was in college. He was sick and would later die the year that I was to graduate. I knew it was coming so I visited him and called him as much as possible. I once brought my girlfriend at the time to meet him. He was always thrilled to meet my “lady friends.”

I wish Grandpa could meet my lady friend today. My wife. She would love him and I’m sure he’d love her. Maybe she’d even wear her overalls. They are incredibly stylish, not to mention very roomy and easy to put on.