It wasn’t my favorite shirt…but it’s a shirt I remember so well. The top button was made of a material that was just a little more rubbery than a regular button. The shirt itself was a size too large for me; but I think it felt like many of my shirts were. The sleeves were full length and fit just right…which was notably because even then I had oddly long arms for my body’s small frame. It was also my only collard shirt outside of my white dress shirt for church–and well that was only for church and this was picture day.
Growing up picture day was often a harrowing experience. It reminded me of who I was and wasn’t and what I had and didn’t. As I got older the dread of picture day was real, so real that I, on occasion, would “lose” the class photo permission slip and the photo package selection form.
To my mom, I imagine, the permission slip signaled that picture day was approaching and the selection form and added reminder that she was living far below the poverty line as a single mother with four children. On picture day my mother knew she wasn’t sending her kids off with the newest clothing and the best photo package selected–if even selection of the basic package was an option.
I don’t believe it was picture day that made me aware of my family’s economic difference; however, picture day affirmed it.
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It’s been a while since I’ve considered some of these thoughts. I contend this was stirred by my daughter’s school sending home a picture day notice…but I am not sure what finally inspired me to write it down. I wonder if my daughter will have these considerations one day.
Will she be humble and appreciate the fight that her fathers fought so that her life would be easier than their own, than their parents. Will she be pleased that her dads gave her what she needed, never more than what she should have, and just enough to ensure she never wanted?
