Steve O’Neill can’t let some things go. That’s why he learned to sew.
I spent most of my Sunday morning sewing my pajama pants back together.
I emphasize most of my morning because I’m not extremely talented with a needle and thread. Though one would think with all of the patch work I’ve done my skills would be a little more honed. I’m blaming my fat fingers for my sewing ineptitude.
It had gotten to the point that each time I would go to slide on my pants, the toes on my left foot would catch on a small hole and rip it into a larger one. We’re talking about a solid 4” tear.
Yes, it would be much easier to just throw my pajama pants away and pick up a new pair at Target, but we have a history together. We’ve been sleeping together for about 10 years. I remember that fabled Christmas morning they came into my life as if it were yesterday. I shredded the wrapping paper off of a box that, after a few quick shakes, obviously contained clothing of some sort. Low and behold, Santa Claus had delivered a brand new pair of gray Joe Boxer pajama paints. As with most clothing I receive on Christmas, I immediately threw them on and began parading around the house; walking tall and proud. I could tell this was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. How can I just throw 10 years of quality service and countless experiences together into the dumpster?
I can’t.
That’s why I sew.
My pants have kept me comfortable and protected my legs from the cold for years, and all I’ve done is neglect their upkeep. I desperately need to repair our relationship. So, I pull out my hobo style sewing kit and get to work.
I thread the black yarn through the eye-hole of the needle and poise myself for precision work. As I guide the needle through the fabric, the soft touch of cotton and polyester on my finger tips brings a smile to my face. I reminisce about all the moments shared in each other’s company; all that time enjoying the journey. There was the whole morning we spent together under the sheets, lying next to a beautiful woman. The short jaunts to the doughnut shop just down the hill after a night of partying. Or the late night in Vegas spent stuffing my face with friends at McDonald’s. I can still see the small grease stain that never quite came out.
I refocus on the task at hand and continue sewing.
Push through then pull… push through then pull…
The major wear is at the knees. I’m a pretty active guy and with all the bending and moving I do it’s no surprise this was the first area to go. Once I get started, it’s not as much trouble as I originally thought it would be. A little music playing in the background makes the experience seem more like fun than work. Strange how something so simple is made out to be such an arduous task.
I snip off the remaining thread and tie a knot to secure my stitching. Just like that, brand new pajama pants… well, sort of. At least I won’t be getting my toes caught in them anymore. I slide in one leg at a time to test my handy work. Perfect fit, and no snag.
It’s comforting to be embraced by a familiar touch.
They may be worn and tattered through years of use, but they fit perfectly. I forget at times how much I enjoy lounging around the house in these particular pants. The thought of simply tossing them into the trash is now a little disturbing.
Of course, if I ever make it big and my bank account suddenly becomes flooded with millions of dollars, one might think I wouldn’t have to pull out the needle and thread anymore; I could afford to have Joe Boxer custom tailor these obsolete pajama pants just for me. But it wouldn’t be the same.
I would still sew.
Whether I’m world famous with more money than I can count or just a no-name guy writing a blog and struggling to pay the bills, I’m still me.
Repairing my pants is not about the money. It’s about the experience of fixing something broken that just needs a little time and effort to repair. It’s about holding on to something I care about. It’s about valuing what I have and finding beauty in the imperfections.
Of course there are some articles of clothing that aren’t meant to be salvaged. No matter how many times I sew them back together, they continue to rip and tear. There’s a fine line between knowing what to hold on to and what to let go. I wish I could tell you where that line lies, but I can’t.
What I can tell you is that my pants still function flawlessly; they just have a few aesthetic blemishes. I’ve come to find that many of us are quick to throw away anythingthat isn’t perfect. I’ve done it a million times. Now, I’m working to fix it.
I’m beginning to reap the benefits.
Enjoying the comfort of great pajama pants for over a decade is rare; almost unheard of these days. I also have a few t-shirts that have been with me for at least 5 years. The greatest part about each of those pieces of clothing is how they fit. Each one knows how I work, yet responds differently to my actions. Their uniqueness allows me to have a different look and feel every day. I don’t have to worry about breaking them in until they fit just right.
They’ve always been there for me. Ultimately, it’s up to me to keep it that way. I’ve come to appreciate each and every pair of pants, shorts, boxers, socks, and individual t-shirts that reside in my closet.
The next time my pajama pants rip or tear, I’ll be sure to think first of how I can fix them before I consider throwing them away.
I can’t keep running from rips and tears for the rest of my life. After all, you reap what you sew.
I’m certain I heard Angels singing in the background while I was reading this. As a Believer, I can’t help but think about the scripture Galatians 6:7 that declares whatever a man (gender neutral) sows that he will also reap. What a major lesson you’ve learned from “sewing” that can be practically applied to everyday life! I share your sentiment and I’m learning to invest more and loose less.
Great piece and thank you for sharing your story with us.