James L. Cowles--Short Pants

Short Pants

James L. Cowles

Photo courtesy of the author.

I remember a time when life was much more of an adventure, and I was much like a cat, very curious about so many things. It was a time when the world was indeed, brand new to me, when in fact I, myself, was also fairly new to the world. I am betting I am not alone in this; that others remember that time in their life. In fact,maybe we all were much the same.

Those years, when I was three, four, and five years old, were a time of shyness for me, especially in a public situation; and its was a time for acting out many things in private, pretending what I would say if I were in public. A time to experiment with those things I could not bring myself to do in public. Not the things I knew a little kid shouldn't do, but rather, normal things, like talking to a girl. I suppose most all little boys struggled with this serious problem at one time or another.

In my youth, I watched adults, men and women, talk with each other, in an easy manner, yet I could not talk with a little girl; I had not yet learned to converse with the opposite sex, I did not know how to communicate with Janet Jones, that little curly-headed girl I met at age four, my first day in kindergarten. I remember the kidding I received from parents, relatives and neighbors, asking me, “Do you have a girlfriend, Jimmy? I'd always reply, shyly, “ye...ye..yes.” I was taught to tell the truth, so I did. This seemed to always lead to even more embarrassing questions, like, “Have you kissed her yet?” Or, “Do you hold hands, Jimmy?” Of course, when I would reply, “no,” there would be laughing and snickering, which I didn’t fully understand, and then would come the inevitable question; “Jimbo, have you even told her you like her?” Sometimes, I'd just run away and hide, rather than answering honestly. Of course, I had never told her. She had no idea I liked her, but I did, and that seemed enough at the time.

I remember hating, Jerry Wright. He wasn't at all shy. He told Janet he liked her, and they held hands a lot, right in front of me, God, and everybody. Five years old, and there he was, holding hands with my girlfriend. I even saw her kiss him on the cheek. How dare she do that. I thought she knew she was “My girlfriend.”

I was pretty sure I could “whip” cute little Jerry Wright; dang him, anyway. For a time I thought I’d just follow them, then catch him being mean to her, and then I'd step in and punch him, protecting her. Then she would notice me, and we would hold hands, and she would kiss me on the cheek. I followed them for a while, ever ready to be the hero, but it never happened. I gave up after an hour or so. I couldn't stand how they liked to play together. I was doomed.

I remember how I told my mother that I didn't want to wear those short pants to school anymore. I told her that the other boys had long pants, and while that was not entirely true, Jerry Wright always wore long pants, and he always looked so neat. Mom was suspicious, but she bought me several pairs on long pants, and then I began being more particular about my hair. She liked to keep my hair short, and Jerry's was long and curly. And darn that Jerry, he had big, blue eyes. Nothing I could do about that; my hazel eyes didn't look too bad, I thought,and maybe I could try to keep them open wider, and Janet would notice that about me. Then it wouldn't matter about my “buzz” haircut.

It was around that time I first learned I had to be me, and quit trying to be something, or someone I wasn't. I wasn’t ever going to be like Jerry, and I finally realized I didn't want to be like him anyway. In those days, all the kids in our neighborhood went to the same school, and Janet lived about four blocks from me. One hot summer day, when school was out, my father and I were walking, and we were about one-half block from Janet’s house, and she was playing outside. The moment she saw me, she yelled out, several times, “Hi Jimmy,” but I would only glance at her, and I did not wave, or acknowledge her in any way. I just pretended I didn't even see her. My dad said, “Jimmy, that pretty little girl is waving and calling your name.” I ignored him, too. You see, I was embarrassed, and I'm not entirely sure why. I think it was a combination of things. For one, I didn’t want dad to tell everyone he met my girlfriend. This would cause them to kid me even more, and I did not need that. I also remember being upset that dad was holding my hand as we walked. I felt I was a big boy, and didn't like having my father holding my hand. I somehow thought Janet would think less of me for holding hands with dad. But that was not the only thing. I had those stupid short pants on again, for one, I had a buzz haircut for another, and I still didn't know how to talk to a girl. I should have prepared myself, but I was surprised by her. Darn her. She should not have yelled, only waved. I could handle that.

The funny thing about all of this, later, in the fifth grade, I heard another little girl ask Janet, “Do you think Jimmy is cute?” And I saw and heard Janet smile and say, “I sure do.” So here I was, still tongue tied and unable to take advantage of what I had prayed for. I remember these times, and I remember finally being able to talk with a girl, but it wasn't Janet, that cute little curly headed girl.

Life is funny. After college I became a sales and marketing director, and a public speaker, and I loved every minute of it. Somewhere along the way, I learned how to communicate with everyone. Yes, I remember the time when I used to practice talking to Janet, but she was never anywhere to be found. I could probably talk with her, now; but now, I really don't won't too. Yes, life is funny.

Contact James
(Unless you type the author's name
in the subject line of the message
we won't know where to send it.)

Story list and biography for James

Book Case

Home Page

The Preservation Foundation, Inc., A Nonprofit Book Publisher