One day about a year ago, my son, my husband and I had to do some shopping at Walmart. My son, who was two at the time, insisted on walking rather than riding in the basket.
Now, if you know anything about toddler pants, you know that unless they're a specific type of elastic waist band, they're going to sag if they're even the slightest bit too big. Those cute little kiesters can be surprisingly hard to estimate when it comes to sizes, and if you're less than stellar at sorting clothes (like me), you're going to end up grabbing that pair of too-loose pants at least occasionally.
I kept having to stop and adjust his clothes, then we'd have to try and catch up with my husband. Poor little Joey would do his best, but there's so many interesting things to look at in a store, and his legs were so much shorter than his Daddy's. We fell further and further behind, me tugging on his hand to try and hurry him along, him waddling along as fast as he could, his diaper peeking above his waistband.
At one point, I looked up and noticed a man walking along beside us. This guy was not someone you'd necessarily want to meet in a dark alley. He had on baggy, grubby jeans and an oversized grey hoodie. He looked like he'd seen some things, and on his face was a teardrop tattoo (depending on who you ask, this either means you lost someone close to you while in prison, or you killed someone in prison). He looked down at Joey and smirked.
"Hey man." He said.
"You're too young to be swaggin'."
And he walked on.
I'm still not sure why, but at the time, that felt like one of the most epic moments of my life.
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