In St. Luscious, MO, there were five senior citizen clubs. One such club was called the Young Seniors, which met every Sunday afternoon, at St. Theresa's Church on Olive Blvd. One afternoon, the members were listening to the radio when this announcement came on: "Two sixteen year old males were cited today, under the city's new law prohibiting wearing pants that sagged, showing the underwear. Both males were upset. 'This is bogus,' one shouted, 'just another attempt to squash the spirit of the Black man!' The other teen was White, and he was cited three blocks away. His angry response to the citation was, 'This is just another attempt to crush freedom of expression!'"
Turning off the radio, one of the senior ladies shook her head in disgust, "It's a shame, they might as well not be wearing pants at all!"
"It's just a fad, for goodness sakes," said one elderly male member, in droopy pants.
Another elderly Black man flatly stated, "These boys are telling the world what to kiss!"
"Well," exclaimed one old spinster, "It's just plain rude. In my home, my grandsons pull up their pants!"
"Kids today are impatient," declared sixty year old Larry, "If they just wait til they're our age, the saggy pants style will be in fashion, and pants won't be the only thing that sags."
As more people complained, one silver hair little old lady banged the metal head of her cane on the floor for attention. When everyone became quiet, she cleared her throat and spoke, "Ladies and gents..."
"Why so formal, Emma?" someone interrupted.
Emma began again, "All right, people, we might be able to do something to put some fear in a few of these kids. You know, attack their pride, embarrass them a little and have some laughs as well. Why don't we get some ideas together?" As it turned out, Emma was right, the oldsters did have fun coming up with ideas for the sagging pants issue. Prizes were awarded for the best sounding ideas. The best prize went to Emma, a beautiful vase filled with red and white roses. They were delivered to her home, when she became bedridden, but she made a point of calling each member to thank them. "I'm just a little under the weather," she said, her voice sounding weak and tired, "but I'll be back full strength." Meanwhile, the pant problem was gettting worse. Now some of the boys wore their pants down to their thighs. Oh well, it was just a fad, wasn't it?
As summer turned to fall, most of the Young Seniors began to be melancholy, and needed their spirits uplifted. Emma had been full of energy. She shopped, took walks, even baked cookies and cakes for the other members. She had to slow down when the strokes started, but that didn't stop her from motivating others to work. She passed away, peacefully and everyone was sad, especially her close friend, fifty-five year old Lisa. Lisa was tall, and thin. She had lovely olive skin, and wore her silver gray hair in a short afro style. She was beginning to show signs of having serious memory loss. Presently, she was having trouble with remembering Emma's death. At the next meeting, one afternoon, Larry decided to stir things up a little. "This will cheer everyone up," he said, with the look of a naughty child in his gray-brown eyes. In his hand he held a small newspaper clipping. In answer to murmurs from the other members, Larry adjusted his bi-focals, sat down at a table and read aloud, "A fifteen year old White male walked in to the police station, last night, to report that he had just been assaulted. He described the assailant as dressed completely, from head to toe, in dark clothing. Under the dim lights from the street lamps, he could barely make out a pair of piercing gray green eyes. He was unable to tell if the person was male or female, because he (or she) never spoke.
The young man said, 'I was on my way to see one of my home-boys when this creepy dark figure jumped me from behind and used a pipe or something to knock me out. When I woke up, my underpants were down and a number was painted on my rump, like I was being rated or something!' Amid much snickering, the police noted the lump on the young man's head and remnants of what looked like the number six painted on his behind. A spokesperson of the department tried to stifle a giggle as he said that not much could be done, without witnesses. The young man, who declined to give his name, was warned to pull up his pants or he would receive a ticket.
There was applause, laughter and snickering as Larry folded the paper, sat back in his chair and said, "Don't you guys recognize Emma's plan? All right, which one of you rated that punk?!" There was a lot of mumbling from among the members ("Rated too high, if you ask me," and "Nice job, but they should have spanked his rump before rating it."), however, no one confessed, from St. Theresa's nor any of the other clubs. At St Theresa, Lisa had a great idea. She raised two rebellious sons, by herself. "Boys," she would say to them, "pull up your pants. You look like you're inviting rape!" The boys laughed, till the day one was attacked and raped by unknown gang members. After ten years, Lisa still looked at teenage sagging pant males with suspicion. On this night, a smile spread across her face, revealing laugh lines not used in a long time. "What do you suppose would happen," she began, with a strange look in her greenish eyes, "if we really put Emma's idea to work? We could form groups and patrol the streets. I ought to call Emma and tell her." No one had the heart to remind Lisa of Emma's death. Using his walker for support, sixty year George stood, a spark of excitement showing in his eyes. "You know," he began, "I can't walk or run very well, but I can drive, And I'm willing to provide transportation. We might have to work in the evening, or at night, but where ever we see these kids, we could carry out the plan." Under the leadership of the Young Seniors Club, the other senior citizen clubs joined forces to carry out their plan.