The first day of school begins with an opening assembly attended by students and faculty. The principal welcomes everyone, sets some ground rules, she invites the vice principal to introduce a new mentoring system. The various class officers charge to the center of the gym and show some school pride in riling up their classmates. It's all very...
high school. And cute. It always makes me smile. And nervous, because I never know if they're going to ask all the teachers to introduce themselves. It's embarrassing waiting for my turn at the mic wondering if the claps and hoorays will be more loud or less than the previous teacher. It's like being in high school again--as a student, and all those awkward insecurities return.
This year, I was relieved when they just paraded to the front, the new teachers. My shoulders relaxed, and it gave me a chance to look admiringly at all my colleagues lined against the gym wall. What a great group of people! Each one, passionate about serving students, passionate about math, or choir, or financial literacy.
Then it hit me. What a sartorial drabness they represented. All dressed mostly in black, brown, dark blue--professional colors. A few reds mixed in, but the muted maroon-- not the cherry red bling on a sports car. On the first day! I looked down at myself. Thank goodness I'd fit into my first day of school outfit, though under my flashy coral sweater, the skirt had maybe a half inch space where it couldn't be zipped to the top. I saw my pink and coral shoes with the rhinestone rectangle. Yes, my skirt was tiny black checks but it had embroidered flowers. I was the one bastion of color amidst a sea of mud.
I used to dress mainly in black. The safety and surety of black. The figure flaw hiding ability of black. Beautiful black--until the student at the back of the classroom, slumped in his chair, depression radiating from his countenance, raised his hand and the words dragged out of his mouth like it was filled with gravel. "Mrs. Martinez, you've worn black three days in a row." The boy was tortured by the way I dressed.
I vowed to do better.
Two years later, his brother is my student. "Mrs. Martinez, I bet you couldn't go a week without wearing black."
"You're on."
I even went one day extra. The week coincided with the arrival of my refugee daughter's dresses she was going to sell. Bright yellows, blues, reds, I was a Christmas tree for a week. The student lost his bet; I gained a new appreciation for color. I started noticing clothing color choices in other people and the effect it had on me.
When the Sunday school teacher showed up one day in a hot pink sweater with a matching herringbone pink skirt and matching pink shoes, I found her to be a delight. The next week she wore black. I compared the cheeriness she exuded in pink versus the hardness in black. The joy I felt from other's clothing choices, well, I decided to be a colorfully dressed person. If I could bring a little ray of sunshine by my sartorial decisions, what an easy way to help the planet with a visual lift.
A few weeks ago, when we re-found a favorite store on Sixth and 54th, I was taken by all the bright colors in the fabrics. I passed over the blacks and browns and like a bird attracted to shiny objects, I chose the most viviid clothing. So did Mom. When she modeled her colorful clothing, she was a wellspring of beauty, and she felt so good!! As we tried on the Monet watercolor infused clothing our smiles widened, our energy quickened. I gravitated to even brighter colors, even daring to try on a pair of chartreuse stretchy pants. Color was happiness.
Yesterday, as I went to my closet for the second day of school, I pulled out the chartreuse pants and the watercolor shirt. I put it on. I sat in it for awhile and convinced myself I looked like a clown. I tried on the pink and blue patterned balloon pants. Same effect. I switched between three pairs, three different styles of black pants. They looked just as bad. I finally settled on khaki green pants with a pink and khaki top, soft pink shoes. I'd reached middle ground-- conservative not comedic, not depressing.
Later, I explained to Tony why I couldn't wear the outfit. "First, I need credibility."
The first day of school color choice for the faculty was the right choice. Their blazers and black skirts said, professional, serious, turn in your homework or else.
If I'd worn the colorful outfit, it would have communicated, do what you want, let's play, don't take me serious. At least in the first week.
On Monday, I will begin school in my black pinstriped skirt with matching blazer. The next day, I will wear navy blue pants and a crisp white shirt. I will monitor their annotations and class participation. Once things are on track, I'll show up in the green pants, the happy shirt, and the hot pink sandals. We'll see how the day goes.
high school. And cute. It always makes me smile. And nervous, because I never know if they're going to ask all the teachers to introduce themselves. It's embarrassing waiting for my turn at the mic wondering if the claps and hoorays will be more loud or less than the previous teacher. It's like being in high school again--as a student, and all those awkward insecurities return.
This year, I was relieved when they just paraded to the front, the new teachers. My shoulders relaxed, and it gave me a chance to look admiringly at all my colleagues lined against the gym wall. What a great group of people! Each one, passionate about serving students, passionate about math, or choir, or financial literacy.
Then it hit me. What a sartorial drabness they represented. All dressed mostly in black, brown, dark blue--professional colors. A few reds mixed in, but the muted maroon-- not the cherry red bling on a sports car. On the first day! I looked down at myself. Thank goodness I'd fit into my first day of school outfit, though under my flashy coral sweater, the skirt had maybe a half inch space where it couldn't be zipped to the top. I saw my pink and coral shoes with the rhinestone rectangle. Yes, my skirt was tiny black checks but it had embroidered flowers. I was the one bastion of color amidst a sea of mud.
I used to dress mainly in black. The safety and surety of black. The figure flaw hiding ability of black. Beautiful black--until the student at the back of the classroom, slumped in his chair, depression radiating from his countenance, raised his hand and the words dragged out of his mouth like it was filled with gravel. "Mrs. Martinez, you've worn black three days in a row." The boy was tortured by the way I dressed.
I vowed to do better.
Two years later, his brother is my student. "Mrs. Martinez, I bet you couldn't go a week without wearing black."
"You're on."
I even went one day extra. The week coincided with the arrival of my refugee daughter's dresses she was going to sell. Bright yellows, blues, reds, I was a Christmas tree for a week. The student lost his bet; I gained a new appreciation for color. I started noticing clothing color choices in other people and the effect it had on me.
When the Sunday school teacher showed up one day in a hot pink sweater with a matching herringbone pink skirt and matching pink shoes, I found her to be a delight. The next week she wore black. I compared the cheeriness she exuded in pink versus the hardness in black. The joy I felt from other's clothing choices, well, I decided to be a colorfully dressed person. If I could bring a little ray of sunshine by my sartorial decisions, what an easy way to help the planet with a visual lift.
A few weeks ago, when we re-found a favorite store on Sixth and 54th, I was taken by all the bright colors in the fabrics. I passed over the blacks and browns and like a bird attracted to shiny objects, I chose the most viviid clothing. So did Mom. When she modeled her colorful clothing, she was a wellspring of beauty, and she felt so good!! As we tried on the Monet watercolor infused clothing our smiles widened, our energy quickened. I gravitated to even brighter colors, even daring to try on a pair of chartreuse stretchy pants. Color was happiness.
Yesterday, as I went to my closet for the second day of school, I pulled out the chartreuse pants and the watercolor shirt. I put it on. I sat in it for awhile and convinced myself I looked like a clown. I tried on the pink and blue patterned balloon pants. Same effect. I switched between three pairs, three different styles of black pants. They looked just as bad. I finally settled on khaki green pants with a pink and khaki top, soft pink shoes. I'd reached middle ground-- conservative not comedic, not depressing.
Later, I explained to Tony why I couldn't wear the outfit. "First, I need credibility."
The first day of school color choice for the faculty was the right choice. Their blazers and black skirts said, professional, serious, turn in your homework or else.
If I'd worn the colorful outfit, it would have communicated, do what you want, let's play, don't take me serious. At least in the first week.
On Monday, I will begin school in my black pinstriped skirt with matching blazer. The next day, I will wear navy blue pants and a crisp white shirt. I will monitor their annotations and class participation. Once things are on track, I'll show up in the green pants, the happy shirt, and the hot pink sandals. We'll see how the day goes.
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