There is no end to the reminders that my childhood is over. The latest nail in the coffin that houses my youth’s corpse is recent news that the beloved bargain store, Daffy’s, is closing its doors.
When I was younger, every now and then, my mother would come home from work with bright yellow bags and I just knew that somewhere in one of them was a treat for me – a patterned blouse, a flouncy dress, or a pair of funky shoes.
On days when I was on holiday, my mom would take me to work with her in the city, where I received an education. She exposed me to office culture, and during her lunch hour, she taught me how to find a stylish deal at Daffy’s. We would stalk the store aisles, hunting pieces, and she would size up items without me trying them on in the fitting room, “Perfect. Every cloth in the store has its owner, and you own this one.” Everything we found was one-of-a-kind, and made me feel special. “You’re not going to see anyone wearing this,” my mom would say. “They don’t just sell clothes like this anywhere.”
Whenever my mandatory uniform Catholic school had dress-down days, I would proudly wear my European designer outfits while others donned monogram logo Baby Phat, Parasuco, or knock-off Gucci. My peers did not always appreciate my fashion choices, but I smiled on the inside knowing that I was wearing the finest of threads, and got even more satisfaction out of knowing that my clothes did not break the bank. Daffy’s was my mom’s little secret that she let me in on.
Yes, there are other discount retailers filled with fab finds, but there will never be another Daffy’s. At least I have a closet full of treasures that my mom and I found on our lunchtime adventures.