The Lunacy of Winter Coats

My grandpa had a temper. It simmered beneath the surface of a sage, calm retired teacher, but it was always there.

I can only remember seeing it twice. The first time, he was clipping my toenails (I was five) onto a black magazine cover so he could see, collect, and throw them away easily. My grandma didn’t realize and picked up the magazine, sending toenails flying all over the room. They’re probably still buried somewhere in the carpet.

The other time, I was about the same age. It was wintertime. He picked me up from school, and we were getting ready to walk out to the car. I didn’t want to wear my coat. “Sorry, Trev, we’re not going anywhere until you put that coat on.”

I don’t remember what I said, but I refused for long enough that he became angry right there, in front of all the other kids. My patience would have been no match for his, so I’m sure I relented and wore the coat out to the car.

But that was far from the only time I chose not to wear a coat in the wintertime — even in frigid, single-digit temperatures. When my family and I went out to dinner, I often wore shorts and a t-shirt. (At some point, probably around age 10, my family—grandpa included—gave up on the issue.)

They believed I was only trying to make a point. “You’re just being difficult,” they told me, or “Why must you be different?” they asked.

It infuriated me. It insulted me, too: My family believed I was so … childish, so dumb, so reflexively contrarian that I rebelled just for the sake of rebelling. It infuriated me beyond the point where I could articulate my reasoning.

Now I can articulate it. See, going out to dinner, even if the temperature was 10 degrees, involved very little time actually outdoors. The car was parked in the garage. The car was heated. At the restaurant, we’d park — what? — a dozen steps from the entrance? Of course, the restaurant was heated, too. I knew all this, had it all laid out in my head, had calculated exactly how much time I’d be outdoors and knew how many times I’d have to put on and remove my coat:

• Put it on before leaving the house
• Take it off in the car
• Back on when leaving the car
• Off at the restaurant (and then I’d have to find a place to put it)
• Plus, the same procedure in reverse on the way home

Without being able to express it, I knew that putting on my heavy winter coat for a simple trip to a restaurant and back was more trouble than it was worth. A few seconds of being cold before the car warmed up, and a few seconds outdoors on the way into and out of the restaurant wouldn’t hurt me.

In fact, to me, it seemed ridiculous that no one else saw it the same way, that they couldn’t make the same calculations. They were the ones acting reflexively, reaching into the closet for their coats just because the calendar said January and the thermometer said 10, whether they were going to spend a minute outside or an hour.

I wonder, if I’d been able to express my thoughts, whether my family would’ve seen the light.

I’ve thought about winter coats over the past few months, because we’re seeing a similar drama play out on a grander scale. We have what seem to be two sides to an issue: One side is insisting that everyone, no matter what, put on an article of clothing before leaving the house. The other side has a slightly more nuanced viewpoint that the first side reduces to childishness, selfishness, and reflexive contrarianism.

My experience as a kid is illuminating, though, in two ways.

First, my grandpa’s insistence on wearing a coat, while it worked that one time, probably made me more spiteful of the whole coat-for-fifteen-seconds charade. I’ll bet it led me to be even stronger in my conviction the next time.

Secondly, consider the old hypothetical about the Pope. If he wakes up tomorrow morning and chooses to be Catholic, how much could he really have thought about it overnight? But, if he wakes up tomorrow and declares himself a Buddhist or an atheist, he must have put some effort into the decision. Keep that in mind the next time you think you see people rebelling just for the sake of being different.

That’s not to say they’re always right, but this much is true: To arrive at conclusions and make decisions that go against the grain involves a lot more thought than going with the crowd.

If you enjoyed this story — and even if you didn’t — you should check out my book, Ticketless: How Sneaking Into The Super Bowl And Everything Else (Almost) Held My Life Together.