Baggy Pants

I have calves that are abnormally large.

A client once saw me golfing in shorts, and gave me the nickname, Van Calves, as a play on my last name. This moniker is now printed on the back of a hockey jersey I own. While on vacation with my wife, a newly wed couple we first met on a beach, came over once and introduced themselves. The wife, led with, "My god those are huge calves!" I was flattered and flushed in the same instant. More recently, I was asked by a tailor if "I noticed that the ham hocks behind my shins stuck out farther than my posterior". I purchased some pants from him for his honesty and then made it his problem to fix the disproportions.

It was quite easy growing up ordering loose fit khaki's or baggy leg levi's and letting the chips fall where they may. Sure, it was impossible to pull up my socks past my ankles, and I've certainly stretched out a few pants cuffs trying to move them past my gastrocnemius muscle, but my gastro-enormicus calf didn't seem to mind, and Kohl's always has a clearance rack. Living in California, one simply doesn't wear long pants unless you are attending your own funeral, a wedding not on a beach, or the weather drops below 60 and you think the ocean has frozen over. When I moved back to WI, I found that it was even simple to overcome my desire to avoid wearing pants in winter. I purchased the warmest set of hunting boots I could find, Sorel's, that were made to allow insulated snow wear to be tucked in to the boot just below the knee. If one wears Sorel's up to the knee, and a pair of board shorts from the waist down, there is less than 2" exposed to the frozen air. Man problem solved, shoveled many a driveway wearing these and never once got frostbite that I know of.

And then came baseball pants on my 4 year old mini me daughter, her first pair in the smallest size they had.

The earth has no fury like a daughter who dislikes mandatory attire

Negotiation began with, "I want to wear tights", I replied "It looks good, you look tough"  quite futile

She began to cry, with the force of a 4 year old daughter, which is worse than most metaphors
The displeasure was related to bagginess, then transitioned to specific body part complaints, forcing her mother and I to question our too soon transfer of body part knowledge as my 4 year old replayed the scene from A Christmas Story when Ralphie dropped the lugnuts. My daughter was fortunately using the correct latin words in a full sentence while bawling. She then followed up with a refusal to attend baseball.

"All the kids wear these" "Don't worry you won't get a rash" "Here, we will tuck them into your socks" "Here we will roll down the waist band and pull them up" "We need you to put these on or you cannot go" "Your whole team wears them" "You don't want to let your team down"

These were barely moving the dime with her. I literally was useless, the demon soul who was driving my child mad by making her wear baggy pants. My calf muscles likely wished I had stood up for their freedom all these years as vehemently as my daughter was now defending her right to tights.

My wife, sensing my daughter's concern over rashes and uncomfortable baggy baseball pants, moved quickly to solution. "Honey, I bet lots of athletes wear spandex under their baseball pants, let's try a pair" Spandex engaged, the baggy pants were installed with waist band rolled down, pant legs tucked into socks, socks rolled up to knees over baby enormicus calves, and the world returned to it's normal rotation and axis.

We have now made it through several games and over 2 weeks since the incident, the spandex are certainly a requirement now. I believed my wife's superpowers had resolved the issue of the baggy pantalones.

So in passing this evening, I reminded my daughter before bed that we had a baseball game tomorrow morning and she needed a good night's rest. She gave me a 14 second hug and a kiss, and loudly proclaimed, "I don't like baseball".

Odd I thought

We have had lots of fun together, enjoying the games and playing catch and hitting balls off a tee in the backyard. She had some success, lots of smiles and new friends, and seemed to be enjoying the sport. So I had to ask why she didn't like baseball.

The answer was clear and concise as it always is with her, "I have to wear baggy pants"

My calves giggled as I kissed her on the forehead, and was thankful again for the new perspective being a dad with daughters provides.