Slip-ons and peach fuzz

Posted by admin on Feb 17, 2009 in Issues & Ideas | 1 comment

The late 20th century boasted of many cool things: Cheez Whiz, Nerf Guns, Star Wars, and yes, Chuck Norris. During the later years, West Hills Christian School in Portland, Oregon was known for two very uncool things: their colour scheme and Robert Vincent Steinkamp.

Their colour scheme came somewhere out of the early sixties, and Robert came somewhere out of the early eighties. Both were significantly out of style, but Robert in particular.

Let’s begin with the basics. Slip-ons had finally slipped on in the style wave, but Robert decided the ease of access, plus the purple with blue lightning bolts (which conveniently matched the school’s proud colors) were the next best things to his socks.

These were the same socks his dad had worn in high school. They were about as tall as Robert, and had two thick red stripes around the top. When little Robbie would go to spend the night at his cousin’s house (friends not being an option yet), he could simply pull his socks up to his chin and fall asleep. No sleeping bag required!

Now, to the degree Robert’s socks were tall, his pants were short. From first grade through fifth he actually housed a family of refugees in the space between the hem of his pants and the flashing lightning of his slip-ons, corrugated metal hut and all.

These pants – always a size or six too small – were usually held up by hooking themselves over his protruding hips. This lack of room was accentuated by the button-down shirt stuffed forcibly around the waistline.

Buttoned all the way down, as well as all the way up, he proudly sported the typical plaid shirt (though he had one striped one, “like a train conductor!” his mother would enthusiastically exclaim).

Where the buttons ended their run, one came across his face; nothing too terrific by any means. It was a normal sort of face, though both sides were completely distorted by two large owl-eye glass lenses.
In that era, kids learned to use their glasses to harness the sun’s power and torch innocent ants; Robert’s glasses would have made the family car (a box labeled “Volvo”) burst into flames.

To accentuate his hazardous lenses was his explosion of hair. Not believing in either spending money to get their son a hair cut, or in the procurement of a sharp pair of scissors, Robert received one haircut a year, at the mercy of two rounded pieces of metal called “hair trimmers,” and a violently shaking, sputtering and growling electric trimmer.

While other kids sat calmly in their chairs, getting a quick and easy haircut, Robert was fighting for his life, as the rabid electric trimmer would try to suck his whole body into the chomping teeth of certain death.

Needless to say, most of the time Robert sported a shock of billowing, unkempt hair.

The final icing on the cake came rapidly in the fifth grade, residing on his upper lip. Robert had been blessed with the genes of his father’s side of the family, a strong, hairy German breed. From somewhere in his fourth year of education to late in his sixth, Robert sported a peach-fuzz moustache with all the pride and dignity that a lion shows of his mane.

The 1980s and 1990s might not have been the best to Robert, but he has learned to get a better haircut, keep his shirt untucked, find pants that fit, and shave his upper lip (on occasion).

But somewhere deep inside there will always been that insatiable love for the comfort of a pair of lightning-laced purple slip-ons.