Ido

Born in warm climate, I never wore long johns up until my twentieth birthday, when I moved to New York. It was something my mom packed for me. “They’re your grandpa’s old long johns,” she said. “From Poland.” I pulled them up on my legs, painting them white. “With a white thermal shirt, I can look like a cowboy wearing his pajamas,” I said. She didn’t get it. My mother was never much for the movies.