I have the feeling that when I grew up, many, many years ago, we almost got the feeling that to buy something at full price was something between illegal and un-Jewish.

When we needed some special article of clothing we took a walk to Bathgate Avenue (in the Bronx, of course) where there were a number of clothing stalls and men who were eagerly hawking their merchandise. Or sometimes we went to the lower East side, but that was a real pilgrimage because we had to take the subway and that even entailed a five-cent fare each way so that the cost of the item we would purchase would be a bit higher.

I still remember most vividly that Mama and I were shopping on Bathgate Avenue and that I needed a white shirt to wear on assembly day because I was in the fourth grade and this was a requirement.

We went from stall to shop to stall until we came to one where the sales lady knew Mama and they both shared thoughts about family and the economy and food prices and recipes. I found a shirt that I liked (not much choice, since one white shirt looked like every other) and Mama took out two one-dollar bills and handed it to the Lady who returned two nickels to her and then gave me one. I passed the little tin charity box on the counter and while I stared at the Hebrew letters, I was told it was for the poor orphans.

Without hesitating more than a few seconds, I deposited my nickel in the box. (easy come, easy go, I suppose.) Mama smiled at me and the owner of the store embraced me and then handed me a red tie telling me it was a gift because I was such a good boy.The tie was put in the bag with the shirt and we all said Thank You.

Today I no longer shop at Bathgate Avenue. We have Macy’s and Boscov’s. Whatever happened to Gimbels and Alexander’s? Perhaps they went the way of the little stalls. But now there are big signs proclaiming sales and special reductions. So when I needed a new shirt to wear for teaching or when I went to the synagogue I hastened to the big department store that proclaimed, “Everything Reduced - Fifty percent to Seventy Five percent.”

I couldn’t resist as memories of my past life popped up but even when I saw one sign that told me that the shirts were Fifty Percent reduced or Half Price, whichever was lower (I never understood that!) I was still informed that only those shirts with prices that did not end in ninety-seven cents or that had a red tag fell into this bargain category and of course, white shirts in my size were either not available, were sold out, or did not have red tags.

So what could I do? I needed a shirt. I couldn’t wait to see if one day soon there would be a red tag pinned to the shirt or that the price would end in a round number, because by that time I would probably have needed the next size.

I went to the checkout counter and knew that whoever waited on me, whether it was the gentleman in the white shirt and striped tie or the young woman in the tailored outfit, whoever it was would not want to chat with me about the economy, or new recipes made with low-salt and little sugar and without gluten or cholesterol or the special price of seedless grapes at the new market that had just opened and had remarkable sales. (With or without red tags?)

I was just fortunate that there was someone who would take my purchase and place it in a bag.

I handed the Lady at the counter my credit card. (I needed more than two onedollar bills.) I signed and remarked that the tax was even higher than what Mama had paid for the Bathgate Avenue shirt.

The Sales Person did not understand the reference but still smiled benignly. There were no coins returned to me, but neither was there a little metal charity box on the counter, with or without Hebrew letters.

And you may be certain that I did not receive a red tie, or for that matter any other colored tie, as a gift to go with the shirt.