Before I began my obsession with my now favorite baseball player, Chipper Jones, in the mid 90's...there was my first favorite baseball player. Ken Griffey Jr.
He was everywhere. In his Mariners uniform. Adonis in the flesh. But he's not the focus of my post...he's merely the reason. The muse. The backbone.
I was 10 years old when I was awarded a 'back to school' scholarship that was available to low income, public school students in Puerto Rico. You were awarded $300 for all your school supplies and uniforms. More importantly, this was the first time I was allowed to get whatever I wanted, to make my own decisions with MY money, as long as it was for school (and that it wasn't a pony to ride to said school...it was Puerto Rico. The ponies weren't that odd of a thing).
Ten year old Yari was a straight A student, with big glasses and one friend. I had gum spit at my hair on a weekly basis. I was tripped daily either at the lunch line or on my way to my seat in class...or both places, on good days. If any of the popular, troublesome kids ever talked to me...it was to get their homework done by me or to copy off my exam. I didn't get invited to parties. I didn't have a Walkman, much less a fancy CD player. I didn't have money to buy cds...or even a radio that would play them at home. I simply had a small boom box, with fake plastic chrome in which I would record songs I liked off the radio stations and make my own mixed tapes. I had no t.v. in my room, and I was the proud owner of a 9 year old Original NES console, handed down to me after being beat to a faded pulp by my 6 older cousins. I wore sneakers from Payless or Kmart and my school back packs (and lunch boxes) were also hand me down ones from my cousins. Broken, dirty and not in any way girly.
That being said, and forever embedded in your mind, I will start by saying that the check died within 3 hours of being in my hands. My parents went to the bank with me, to the place I had a savings account under my name with a whopping $10 in it. I cashed the check and put it in my 'wallet'...or shall I say $1.00 plastic wallet from a nearby dollar store. I had a mission. I had a purpose. I did not deviate.
I walked into the nearest Foot Locker, almost in an overwhelming state of smugness. I could already hear my dad warning me to not do what he thought I was about to do. It was my money. I needed shoes for school. Ken Griffey Jr had released his new sneakers two weeks ago. Green and black Nike shoes, with a white sole and black laces. They had air bubbles in the heel. Air bubbles with green rubber inside. They were beautiful. Everyone in school had them. At least everyone that mattered. All the cool guys who stood up to teachers and got into fights, gaining everyone's respect and admiration. All the rich guys who wore designer jeans and had dads that dropped them off in new cars. I would be like them. Surely the shoes would make me like them...
I went to the back of the store and didn't see them anywhere, feeling my heart race at the possibility of being too late to the party. An associate walks towards me, and looks down at me with a forced smile. I just mumble "Ken Griffey?", and he takes me to the end of the wall where they have just brought in the same model sneakers but in new colors. Black and red, with the white Nike swish. $185.00. I asked for a size 8.5 and didn't even bother trying them on. My dad was already arguing with me, calling me insane for spending more than half my money on shoes. I paid, grabbed the rope on my black and white bag and walked out of the store feeling like I was worth a million dollars. Like I had been given a second chance at life. Like school couldn't come up the next day soon enough. I then went and bought 3 new baby blue polos for my uniforms, a Hurley backpack, a Nike Trapper Keeper and bought my mom, dad and aunt a slice of pizza.
The next day, I didn't let my dad drop me off three blocks away out of fear of his beat up Oldsmobile breaking down in front of my school and humiliating me forever. No. I was dropped off in front of the main gates, and I slid out coolly from the front seat, ignoring the creaking noises the car's door made as I swung it closed. I made it three steps into the school yard before being rushed by everyone. Every. Single. Kid in my grade made a circle around me, knelt down to look at my shoes (even though they had the same ones that were merely 2 weeks old). Where did I find them? Oh the mall. How did I get those colors? Oh they just brought them in. Did I just buy them yesterday? Yeah, with my own money. Oh do I have the newest Hurley backpack too? And a Nike Trapper Keeper? Yeah, I bought those too. Will I sit with you at lunch? Will I play basketball with you at recess? Sure! And so, I was escorted to our classroom for the next week, and was the coolest girl they knew...
Then, the following Monday, the new AIR Jordan's came out.
My Trapper Keeper wouldn't close right, and it would keep snapping on the fleshy part of my thumb. Someone had spit a piece of gum into my Hurley backpack. I walked the three blocks from where dad dropped me off, and no one said hi or knew I existed. As I looked down at my Ken Griffey Jr. shoes on the way up the stairs, I saw a black smudge on the white part, and a white scratch on the black part...and just like that, I was me again. I was the same Yari, with outdated $185.00 sneakers.
I have never been able to splurge like that again...to waste my money away on petty, popular things without sacrificing the responsible things like bills, rent...etc. But I am happy with what I do have. Because nowadays, I buy things for me. Because I like them. Wether they're the latest or the coolest, it bothers me not. No one can keep up with the latest trends. That's all they are: trends. Why should I bother spending money I don't have, buying things I don't need in order to impress people that aren't worth it?
Sure, it was 17 years ago. Sure, it was only for a week. Sure, I spent my money stupidly...but for one whole week:
I. Was. Cool.
He was everywhere. In his Mariners uniform. Adonis in the flesh. But he's not the focus of my post...he's merely the reason. The muse. The backbone.
I was 10 years old when I was awarded a 'back to school' scholarship that was available to low income, public school students in Puerto Rico. You were awarded $300 for all your school supplies and uniforms. More importantly, this was the first time I was allowed to get whatever I wanted, to make my own decisions with MY money, as long as it was for school (and that it wasn't a pony to ride to said school...it was Puerto Rico. The ponies weren't that odd of a thing).
Ten year old Yari was a straight A student, with big glasses and one friend. I had gum spit at my hair on a weekly basis. I was tripped daily either at the lunch line or on my way to my seat in class...or both places, on good days. If any of the popular, troublesome kids ever talked to me...it was to get their homework done by me or to copy off my exam. I didn't get invited to parties. I didn't have a Walkman, much less a fancy CD player. I didn't have money to buy cds...or even a radio that would play them at home. I simply had a small boom box, with fake plastic chrome in which I would record songs I liked off the radio stations and make my own mixed tapes. I had no t.v. in my room, and I was the proud owner of a 9 year old Original NES console, handed down to me after being beat to a faded pulp by my 6 older cousins. I wore sneakers from Payless or Kmart and my school back packs (and lunch boxes) were also hand me down ones from my cousins. Broken, dirty and not in any way girly.
That being said, and forever embedded in your mind, I will start by saying that the check died within 3 hours of being in my hands. My parents went to the bank with me, to the place I had a savings account under my name with a whopping $10 in it. I cashed the check and put it in my 'wallet'...or shall I say $1.00 plastic wallet from a nearby dollar store. I had a mission. I had a purpose. I did not deviate.
I walked into the nearest Foot Locker, almost in an overwhelming state of smugness. I could already hear my dad warning me to not do what he thought I was about to do. It was my money. I needed shoes for school. Ken Griffey Jr had released his new sneakers two weeks ago. Green and black Nike shoes, with a white sole and black laces. They had air bubbles in the heel. Air bubbles with green rubber inside. They were beautiful. Everyone in school had them. At least everyone that mattered. All the cool guys who stood up to teachers and got into fights, gaining everyone's respect and admiration. All the rich guys who wore designer jeans and had dads that dropped them off in new cars. I would be like them. Surely the shoes would make me like them...
I went to the back of the store and didn't see them anywhere, feeling my heart race at the possibility of being too late to the party. An associate walks towards me, and looks down at me with a forced smile. I just mumble "Ken Griffey?", and he takes me to the end of the wall where they have just brought in the same model sneakers but in new colors. Black and red, with the white Nike swish. $185.00. I asked for a size 8.5 and didn't even bother trying them on. My dad was already arguing with me, calling me insane for spending more than half my money on shoes. I paid, grabbed the rope on my black and white bag and walked out of the store feeling like I was worth a million dollars. Like I had been given a second chance at life. Like school couldn't come up the next day soon enough. I then went and bought 3 new baby blue polos for my uniforms, a Hurley backpack, a Nike Trapper Keeper and bought my mom, dad and aunt a slice of pizza.
The next day, I didn't let my dad drop me off three blocks away out of fear of his beat up Oldsmobile breaking down in front of my school and humiliating me forever. No. I was dropped off in front of the main gates, and I slid out coolly from the front seat, ignoring the creaking noises the car's door made as I swung it closed. I made it three steps into the school yard before being rushed by everyone. Every. Single. Kid in my grade made a circle around me, knelt down to look at my shoes (even though they had the same ones that were merely 2 weeks old). Where did I find them? Oh the mall. How did I get those colors? Oh they just brought them in. Did I just buy them yesterday? Yeah, with my own money. Oh do I have the newest Hurley backpack too? And a Nike Trapper Keeper? Yeah, I bought those too. Will I sit with you at lunch? Will I play basketball with you at recess? Sure! And so, I was escorted to our classroom for the next week, and was the coolest girl they knew...
Then, the following Monday, the new AIR Jordan's came out.
My Trapper Keeper wouldn't close right, and it would keep snapping on the fleshy part of my thumb. Someone had spit a piece of gum into my Hurley backpack. I walked the three blocks from where dad dropped me off, and no one said hi or knew I existed. As I looked down at my Ken Griffey Jr. shoes on the way up the stairs, I saw a black smudge on the white part, and a white scratch on the black part...and just like that, I was me again. I was the same Yari, with outdated $185.00 sneakers.
I have never been able to splurge like that again...to waste my money away on petty, popular things without sacrificing the responsible things like bills, rent...etc. But I am happy with what I do have. Because nowadays, I buy things for me. Because I like them. Wether they're the latest or the coolest, it bothers me not. No one can keep up with the latest trends. That's all they are: trends. Why should I bother spending money I don't have, buying things I don't need in order to impress people that aren't worth it?
Sure, it was 17 years ago. Sure, it was only for a week. Sure, I spent my money stupidly...but for one whole week:
I. Was. Cool.
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