June 25, 2001

DOWN HOME:
Somehow, he overlooked the 'fossils keep out' sign
___The first thing I wanted to do was find a mirror.
___I had marched into a youth-is-everything clothes store in the mall, searching for Lindsay and Molly and their mother, Joanna. And I needed a mirror.
___(Folks say a dad will run through the fires of hell for his children. And he proves it

MARV KNOX Editor

when he follows his daughters into the mall.)
___On this particular day, we divided up. I went to the bookstore, and Jo and our girls went "shopping," which means they meandered through an infinite number of clothes stores and a makeup boutique or two.
___But I got hungry and vainly assumed I could find them and lure them to quit the quest for the perfect blouse with the promise of food.
___So, I went hunting and eventually worked up the nerve to cross the fake-rustic portals of one of America's foremost teen-clothes establishments.
___This particular hyphenated-name chain had passed me by.
___When I was young, it sold some of the nicest, most traditional-yet-durable outdoor and casual wear. I couldn't afford to browse the catalog, much less shop the stores.
___Then, by the time I finally could shop there, the chain had switched to the hip-teen market. And they didn't stock a single item that anyone who ever scanned the cover of a fashion magazine could picture on me.
___In my mind, I already knew this. But when I finally entered the store looking for Lindsay, Molly and Jo, I experienced how true it is.
___That's why I needed a mirror.
___The store clerks, whose median age was about 21 years and 3 months, looked at me as if I had developed the Ginzo-spotted plague. Or something like that. Actually, they looked at me as if I were a fossil. (Of course, they didn't speak; that would be beneath their cool.) I wanted a mirror to see if I had aged 40 years in 45 minutes. Maybe I had liver spots. Maybe I didn't realize I was puttering around with a walker. Maybe I looked over 30.
___If that were an insult, the injury came a few weeks ago. Joanna and I strolled through a store affiliated with a chain where I have bought 62.5 percent of the suits and sport coats in my closet. Got the same look. Every glance said: "Fossil. Geezer. Too un-hip for our clothes."
___Well, maybe the clerk in that store was right. And who cares? It's just a store, not a worth-o-meter. And scores of other stores are more than happy to sell me clothes, whether I look 24, 44 or 64.
___Later, I thought about those trips to the mall and heard the echo of a refrain from people who visit churches where no one speaks to them or makes them welcome.
___If people walk away from a store, only the store loses. But if people walk away from God's house, eternity is at stake. May we never treat guests the way too-hip-for-their-own-good store clerks treat the over-30 crowd.

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