Jeans in my Genes: Entry #12

Faded jeans and jaded souls

As I sat on the bench in the locker room, I mulled over the interaction in my head. A shy smile twitched its way onto my lips as I took pride in the adoration my jacket had won me.

Hello, Literati!

My name is Alexis Van Horn and I’m Thorn’s newest intern. We met last August during a German class at the university we attend. In addition to interning for A Word with You Press, I work for the school’s newspaper, tutor for the language department, and take notes for the disability center. I’m a first year journalism major and am looking forward to finishing off my finals.

I loved the idea of this new contest and had to join in. The prompt is unique and fun to play around with. Try it out for yourself and share it with your friends! https://awordwithyoupress.com/2018/11/24/our-new-contest-high-heeled-sneakers/

Prompt #15: Feeling nearly faded as my jeans

Little Jean Jacket

By Alexis Van Horn

When I was in middle school, my family gifted me a little jean jacket. It’s a small thing. Its little metal buttons, tiny pockets made for tiny hands, and soft cotton sleeves were closer to my heart than any treasure.

In seventh grade, I was entering the locker room of my local pool before swim team practice. A small gaggle of high schoolers opened the door before I reached the handle.

“Your jacket is so adorable!”

“Oh, it’s so cute! Where did you get it?”

I stuttered out an answer (“m-my mom gave it to me…”) and shuffled through the door. At that point, anyone older — or taller — than me struck fear into my little heart. As I sat on the bench in the locker room, I mulled over the interaction in my head. A shy smile twitched its way onto my lips as I took pride in the adoration my jacket had won me.

I wore that jacket every day for three years. There are bleach stains from cleaning and the hood probably smells of chlorine. There are paint stains from too many high school art projects on its sleeves to be able to keep count. Buttons have loosened and fallen off entirely. My grown hands can fit no more than their fingers within the worn-down pockets anymore. The poor thing is beat-up and worn, but it has been worn with love.

As I grew older, the sleeves shrank up past my wrists and the hem of the bottom moved to the top of my hips. Eventually, my friends began to tease me about my poor, old jacket. They demanded I stop wearing it, that I looked ridiculous and silly. I didn’t care what they thought, that jacket gave me more joy and reminded me of so many happy memories that it was well worth it to keep wearing it.

While I no longer wear my jean jacket every day, I still wear it occasionally. It brings me comfort and joy. Now, it has its place in my closet in Steel House, where I continue to love it dearly.

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4 comments

  1. Avatar
    Miryam says:

    Welcome to the contest! I’m a great-gramma in the group and so appreciate your enthusiasm & energy! Your story is very nice and shows how a piece of textile, when passed on with love, can bring so many warm thoughts and memories.
    All the best with your studies in journalism.
    What writing venue are you attracted too?

  2. Tiffany V
    Tiffany V says:

    I had a jean jacket. I crawled into it like a cave until I could only wear it for a coat. It had no warming properties, and I was stupid enough to stop wearing it when it ‘felt uncool’ and friends mocked me. I love stories like this, that vindicate my stupid youthful fears. Thanks!

    And welcome to the fold!

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