 |
PatchWork
by Joyce Whitis |
"Why I wouldn't wear that to the cow pen!" Her words ringing in my ears, I crawled back to my room to change clothes. The Sloppy Joe look was popular during my teen-age years when getting ready for a date often meant picking one of your Daddy's shirts to go over the plaid skirt you were matching up with saddle oxfords. Like one of thousands of sheep, city wide, I tried hard to match the recognized teen dress of the '40's. Most of the time, my parents just nodded when I told them good-bye as I left the house, other times they, generally my mother, hauled me back. There was a fuzzy line that she drew in the sand and I was a little unsure about where to cross it. Mainly, I think it was her instincts that told her when my clothing was sending a message that was unfortunate to say the least, and eventually I too got that message.
My mother's declaration that something wasn't fit to be seen by dumb animals simply meant that it shouldn't be worn at all. I have high regard for the intelligence of former prosecutor, Marcia Clark, but was stunned by the fact that she visited a nude beach in Europe and undressed to fit the crowd. Probably we would never have seen her so exposed if she hadn't become a celebrity but the fact is she followed the crowd. This seems to me to be a classic case of another of my mother's admonitions when I resisted her efforts to keep me walking the straight line. "Well, would YOU jump off a cliff if everybody else was doing it?"
Basically I turned out to be a jeans and tee shirt person wearing comfortable shoes. With the first warm day in spring, I switch to shorts and cool shirt, reserving only Sunday for dresses. A couple of weeks ago I even wore jeans to a funeral. I didn't plan that, it was just that when I learned of the graveside service, going home to change would have meant missing the funeral. My mother would have been appalled at my pants but glad that I went anyway.
I excuse my own sloppy appearance with the fact that we live in a more relaxed society where it is hard to judge a person by his clothing. In my mother's day, young men didn't call on ladies in their shirt sleeves and women were used to pulling on girdles to hook up to silk hose among other tortures. We were never allowed to wear pants in school and later I taught school for fourteen years in spike heels and slim skirts, playground and all. A year or so after I left teaching, pants were permitted in the classroom. My observations have detected a few cases where certain teachers would do well to heed my mother's remark about the cow pen. There is a point where offensive dress takes on a life of its own and this seems to be the case on some major television shows. Oprah Winfrey is a very popular personality and rightfully so but on occasion she shows more of herself than I care to see. Awards shows likewise reveal lots of skin, the sight of which we could do without. Mainly though I resent wording across tee shirts that is suggestive or downright vulgar. People who wear such stuff have no respect for those around them who can read, nor in fact for themselves.
Respect seems to be the key to anything suitable, dress, manners, language, general behavior. Doing the right thing comes easy if there is a respect for the rights of others involved.
A few days ago, I was enjoying a slow lunch with a friend at the Green Onion in Santo. We drifted into small talk about the "younger generation" and the fact that many of them seemed to have absolutely no respect for anyone or anything including their parents and teachers. Their language is that of longshoreman and some of today's teen-aged girls are just as prone to actually hit each other as the boys. After we had rehashed this with much head shaking and a final "what is this generation coming to", my friend finished off with this remark. "The very worst punishment that I could have ever had was the knowledge that I had disappointed my mother."
There she nailed it! Respect for parents is also respect for teachers, for policemen, for those in authority, for God himself. When that respect is lost, the whole system breaks down and gradually nobody cares what they wear or say or do. Respect doesn't come automatically but has to be earned, a day at a time and once in place must we worked at to keep.
Respect for oneself begins with how we dress, whether on the
street or in the cow pen.