Not Forever 21

While Waiting

Originally written: February 16, 2011

I went to the mall to purchase a gift card from a store aimed squarely at teens. Honestly, it might be more accurate to call it Forever 12, but that name probably wouldn’t pull the same numbers.

A few things disturbed me. First—the lines. Long, winding, relentless. The crowd was huge, and I couldn’t understand the draw. The merchandise didn’t connect with me at all. Which, I suppose, was the most disturbing part—my inability to connect with “21.”

Second, there was an overwhelming presence of low-riding, tight-legged jeans paired with slipper boots. Old people were wearing them. Young people were wearing them. Men were wearing them. I was not. I felt out of place, disconnected, adrift in a sea of stylized sameness.

Still, I purchased the gift card and left—grateful, I must say, that my daughter had made the move away from Hot Topic and Spencer’s to something less dark and, frankly, less pornographic.

Some time later, I found myself back at the mall with Sara and her friend. She wanted to spend her gift card. I declined the return trip to the land of low-riding jeans and opted instead for something more my speed—a high-quality pencil, a fresh sketchbook, and a cushy chair.

Forty-five minutes later, I had a sketch I was proud of and a sense of peace.

When I got home, my oldest son met me at the computer, chuckling. “Dad, my friends are Facebooking me that you’re sitting by yourself in a chair at the mall and that I should go get you!”

No one at the mall said a word to me. Maybe it’s a little unsettling to see your teacher sitting quietly—alone—in the middle of a bustling mall, drawing in a sketchbook.

Without a doubt, I am no longer 21.