So, of course, I hate uniforms. Uniforms are a twisted form of control. They are like the window locks on cars that prevent passengers from getting fresh air without the permission of the driver.
For me, uniforms -- or even dress codes -- trigger an irrational frenzy in a heart that is usually peaceful.
When I was in the sixth grade, my grandma Tressie made me a maxi dress. It was yellow striped and oh-so-fundamentalist looking. But wearing it, I saw myself as a free spirit, running through fields of clover in slow motion while "Come Together" played. It was the furthest thing from sexy and it may have been "distracting" in its ugliness.
Still, I was incensed when my teacher sent me home to change clothes. My GRANDMOTHER had made this dress for me. I wasn't chewing gum or getting to school late or disobeying any of her impossibly rigid rules. I could have worn hot pants, which were also all the rage in the 70s. But no. I was sporting the pioneer wife look.
Nowadays, the uni is the upscale trend. When our town's public school switched seven years ago, my then-senior-high daughter did her dying roach routine: "I will NOT, I can NOT. It denies freedom of expression. It stifles my spirit. It's boring and ugly." I could only agree.
In contrast, or maybe resignation, my youngest daughter wears a uniform to school every day with barely a complaint.
Here's what educators say about uniforms:
They are the great levelizers -- stripping kids of status or wealth.
They promote a sense of belonging, taking the place of gang regalia.
They improve test scores.
To that I say: bull malarkey.
Here's what moms say about uniforms:
They make it easy to get dressed in the morning.
And who wants to trade that for a large dose of freedom of expression?
Freedom of expression circa 1973
Scary freedom of expression circa 2010: a case for uniforms!
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