Chapter Nineteen: White Sneakers

In truth, a little over a year isn’t enough to master advanced tailoring skills, but ordinary trousers, shirts, and casual clothes are no problem. With skill comes the need for equipment; relying solely on hand sewing with a needle isn’t impossible, but it’s far too slow, and Hong Tao’s tender hands wouldn’t stand the strain. Fortunately, this is easily solved. Hong Tao’s mother owns a sewing machine—not electric, but foot-operated, which is no obstacle. He simply places a small stool beneath the pedal, and the issue is resolved.

At first, Hong Tao’s parents didn’t realize he was altering his own clothes, but it didn’t take long to notice. The first clue was a pair of trousers he’d refashioned to wear over his cotton pants, using material from his mother’s green army slacks. For his mother, who was somewhat obsessive about cleanliness, any disturbance in her wardrobe was immediately apparent.

“You spoil the child! You always say my father indulges him, but you’re no better yourself!”

Hong Tao’s father not only refrained from blaming him for altering his trousers, but praised him as well, and simply ignored the matter of the green pants. This led to an argument between his parents over how to raise Hong Tao. In the end, his mother, who was quicker to anger, couldn’t match wits with his father, whose profession relied on his eloquence. Frustrated, she delivered what could be considered a fair assessment.

Why fair? Hong Tao himself thought his father did indulge him a bit. Though his methods differed from his grandfather’s—more reserved, more subtle—they amounted to the same thing. Clearly, his mother understood his father well.

"Hong Tao, it’s good to be resourceful and hands-on. I won’t criticize you; I’ll praise you. In this respect, you’re better than your old man. But, from another angle, I must criticize you. There’s something off about your thinking. Do you know what it is?" Hong Tao’s father held up the trousers Hong Tao had altered, inspecting them as if they were a work of art, finally expressing his satisfaction. But then, his tone shifted as he uttered the word “but.”

“Dad, I think as long as it’s not wasteful, there’s nothing wrong with pursuing a bit of beauty. The love of beauty is innate to humanity. We’re both human, so we both appreciate it. Otherwise, why do you wear a false collar every day?” After these days of adjustment, Hong Tao had gradually accustomed his father to his way of speaking. He no longer needed to hide his thoughts. For a father, it’s easy to accept a son’s virtues, no matter how odd they might seem to outsiders; parents are always tolerant.

“…Fine. My point is, don’t pursue it too much. Focus your main energy on…” But next time, don’t dismantle your mother’s clothes. If you want to alter something, use my old work uniforms; I won’t need them anymore!” Hong Tao’s father now likely had a new topic to discuss with Director Bai: when speaking with Hong Tao, he often found himself caught out and mercilessly countered, left speechless in the end.

The false collar is something those born after the 1980s probably never saw. It was a clever invention: essentially, a white shirt cut off at the sleeves, with a horizontal cut across the chest, leaving only half the shirt! Its purpose? Vanity! At the time, many men wore Zhongshan suits, but the cool synthetic fabrics were expensive. Buying a white undershirt was a luxury, and other cotton undershirts weren’t as white.

So someone came up with this idea: a garment using minimal material, yet fully replicating the effect of a white undershirt. How was it worn? Simple—slip it on, wear the Zhongshan suit over it. To outsiders, it looked like a white undershirt collar underneath, even if the top button was undone, still bright white inside. But you couldn’t unbutton too much, and certainly couldn’t remove the outer jacket; otherwise, the secret would be exposed!

Caught by his son’s observation of his own vanity, Hong Tao’s father could no longer argue the merits of frugality, and instead turned his attention to Hong Tao’s minor transgression—altering clothes without parental permission. After all, even the most broad-minded adult is reluctant to treat a child entirely as an equal.

“Dad, do you have good news to tell me? Does Mom know?” Hong Tao didn’t linger on the topic of clothes, but abruptly asked his father an unrelated question.

“Your mother knows. She’ll soon be able to return to her unit and work again; no need to serve as a barefoot doctor anymore. Our family…” How did you know?” His father began speaking with enthusiasm, but halfway through, realized he’d fallen into his son’s trap.

“Oh… It’s in the newspaper. The Gang of Four has been crushed, and since you were wronged by them as a ‘stinking old ninth,’ you’re bound to be rehabilitated! And that means your job will be restored!” Hong Tao pointed to the newspaper on the table, which he’d brought home from Director Bai’s office for his father. Now, the family didn’t even need to subscribe—they simply read the school’s papers and brought them home.

“You understand even this?” His father was keenly aware that his son seemed to know too much. Such political matters—he himself barely understood, and had never discussed them with his son.

“I don’t understand, but the teachers at school do. I hear them talk about it in the teachers’ lounge every day!” Hong Tao now had a new shield: the teachers in the lounge. His father would never go to the school and inquire about what every teacher had said, so this excuse was foolproof.

“Oh, in the future, don’t listen to adults discuss such things. Just focus on your studies.” His father truly had no way to verify.

“Shouldn’t you buy me something to celebrate? Like a pair of white sneakers!” Hong Tao had no intention of letting his father off the hook.

“White sneakers!? What do you need those for? You don’t even go to school!” His father’s brow furrowed again. His son, he thought, didn’t know who he took after. Despite his intelligence, his habits were worsening—spending money lavishly, now caring about appearance. It was a bad sign!

“I exercise and run every day. Cloth shoes don’t fit well, and they can damage my foot muscles. Ask Mom—my bones and ligaments haven’t fully developed yet, I need extra protection.” This kind of pretext, Hong Tao could spin for an hour without repeating himself; any one of them would keep his father pondering for months.

“…Ligaments!” His father was truly baffled; even the technical term itself was unfamiliar.

“That’s right. I don’t want the all-white sneakers, I want the type used for playing ball—not for looks, but for running, jumping, and protecting my bones and ligaments.” Hong Tao clarified further.

“How much?” His father was finally convinced.

“Thirteen… Actually, it’s thirteen eighty. They sell them at Beixin Bridge Mall.” Hong Tao held up both hands, explaining and gesturing, giving the exact price and the location.

“That’s a bit expensive, isn’t it?” His father’s initial enthusiasm was dampened by the price.

“Dad, under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t ask. I know our family’s situation. But now your job has been restored and soon you’ll get back pay. Even if it’s just a few yuan a month, you’ll have a couple hundred in total. Thirteen yuan isn’t much, right? I’m not looking to get married, and you don’t plan to give me a little brother or sister. Why not spend it? I’ve made plans for the family: you buy new leather shoes, get Mom a dress, buy me white sneakers, then hire some workers to build an extra room outside the window. That’ll be your study and the guest room, so you won’t worry about entertaining visitors. If there’s money left, have a sofa set made for the study—just like the education bureau director’s office!”

As soon as his father began to haggle over money, Hong Tao rolled out his grand vision for the family’s future. He was confident because, in later years, this money really did appear. At that time, his father bought him a toy submachine gun with a flint—which wasn’t cheap. He didn’t want it now, so he improvised about the house extensions.

“…Did you hear all this from the teachers, too? I suppose I’ll have to talk to Director Bai! Is the teachers’ lounge even a lounge anymore, or just a marketplace?” His father wasn’t overly concerned about money and tended to be generous, but after hearing his son’s proposal, he felt alarmed—not because his son wanted to spend, but because of his attitude. A few hundred yuan! Many families couldn’t save that in a lifetime, yet his four-and-a-half-year-old son spent it all in two minutes!

“There you go, getting upset again. Didn’t we agree not to take offense at words? It’s only been a few days, and you’re already breaking the pact. Maybe we shouldn’t chat anymore—should I talk less to spare your temper?” Hong Tao realized he’d gone too far and hurried to clean up after himself.

“I… Little Tao, I won’t go to Director Bai or get angry, but you must tell me who taught you to say these things!” Only now did his father realize that the agreement posted on the wall was a trap—he’d been ensnared by his son, unable to articulate it. Yet, as a father, he felt compelled to uncover whoever was teaching his son these things; otherwise, his son might stray from the path he hoped for him.