Throughout our lives we generally get to choose the clothes that drape our bodies, even if that choice is the doning of a uniform we are required to wear because we need or want to participate in a specific institution. There is one outfit we have little control over, that being the one with which we are born, our Birthday Suit. It gets its look from that wonderous set of patterns passed down from more generations then we will ever know. Mine came with brown hair (long since gone and what is left isn’t brown), brown eyes, mis-shappened feet and other genetic gems that would develop over time and reveal themselves only when the chromozonal alarm chimed, although I did on occasion hit the snooze button. Due to the heraditary nature of my Birthday Suit I think its tailors should be given a mention.
I was born to my parents on November 2, 1966. At the time my father was in the Navy and stationed in Pamona California and my mother his dutiful Navy wife. The times back then more easily allowed for her to focus on family and raise their child while he served his time in the family honored way at sea working for our great nation. I was a preme baby, my mother’s body rejecting my mis-shapen form. Thankfully by 1966 “modern” medicine was able to save the babe and over the next 17 years address many of the biological accessories that came with my Birthday Suit. Bilateral congenital tailpes equinovarus (clubfoot) was the first issue that needed to be straightened out. My newborn self made my first trip home from the hospital in casts. My first memories of this condition are from the time I started walking and by then the casts had been replaced by braces. The braces were able to return my left foot to a fully functional normal condition. More modern medicine was required to address my right foot. Multiple surgeries over the years where joints were fused and tendonds rerouted straightened out the other, as best as could be done.
I walk with a limp that ranges from unnoticable to a Quasimodo-esque hobble after I’ve been walking for a couple of hours. I’ve learned a number of things from my clubbed foot; pain is a part of life and there are hurdles we all must face. As I was born with a messed up foot, I’ve known nothing different, when one is born with an aliment you have little choice but accept it and not knowing anything different can make that acceptance easier. Yep, my foot can kill me sometimes but there are few times it has truly prevented me from doing what I wanted and has saved me from a bad choice at least once.
There was another fundamental Birthday Suit flaw hidden in the genetic fabric unseen and undetected at the time of my birth. The frayed threads would not show themselves for a few years. My testicles did not drop into the biologically correct location of their own accord. Again mid 20th century medical technology would come to the “rescue”. Hormone treatments meant to trigger the natural development didn’t do the trick so Birthday Suit tailors went to work and physically brought them down, I think by using rubber bands or some such thing. Success, or at least partially so. While both came down one was rendered useless in the process.
I’m a one balled limping man. My body a product of my parents, their families stretching back in time and many medical professionals all working together (and sometimes in opposition). Thankfully I am comfortable enough with my body. It has severed me well for many years. I must confess that “comfort” comes at least partially from ignoring whatever my Birthday Suit may be trying to tell me. I am unaware of any other outfit that attempts to provide as much feedback as one’s body. Although I do have a few pairs of pants that attempt to communicate my belly has increased in size.
I must also confess that I treat my Birthday Suit just about as well as my other garments. I do wash it regularly (warm water but don’t tumble dry it) and at least once every decade take it to a professional tailor to have its parts checked on. Though I seldom take the advice of these individuals. For most of my life my motto has been “My body is a temple and I desecrate it daily”. Still it has and continues to serve me very well.
The human body is so amazing. With all that I have put mine through, chain smoking, excessive drinking, poor diet, irregular sleeping habits and ignoring medical advice, I still manage to wake up each morning and continue to limp through the world. My eyes still perceive the beauty around me, my ears are filled with the music of life, I still taste alcoholic libations, the aromas of the world continue to produce reaction and I can still experience the warmth of a kind embrace.
Sure I could see a tailor and have alterations made. Early 21st century medical technology is very capable of making changes both to function and appearance. Even if I had the disposal income I have no desire. Perhaps I could take better care of my Birthday Suit and enjoy it and extend its life longer but after half a century it is safe to say I’m comfortable with my relationship with this one and only outfit that lasts us for our entire life.
Leaving the closet left more room for clothes 