Silver boots

Sitting on top of one of the bookcases in our house is a pair of silver cowboy boots, size 2. I am not sure when I got them, and they were not always silver. When I was in about third grade, my siblings and I combined forces to coordinate on Halloween. I was the Tin Woodman, my sister, Anne, was Dorothy, and my brother, Will, was the Cowardly Lion. Other than my stunning footwear, I remember being pretty uncomfortable hauling a collection of silver-painted cardboard boxes around our neighborhood.

Working with children for almost 35 years, I’ve observed lots of costuming, literal and figurative. The dress codes and styles ebb and flow — higher and lower hems, more and less fabric — in cycles that will often challenge our sensibilities and tastes. Who knew that “mom jeans” would return from the fashion desert of the late '80s? With that seemingly impossible resurrection, I probably should not have gotten rid of my gold velour pullover so fast!

School uniforms, costumes of a sort, also take on layers of meaning. While on a service trip to the Dominican Republic with my family, we watched siblings in the rural villages swap outfits with each other at the bus stop. Without a proper uniform, school was an impossibility, so the mid-day swap enabled two to attend for the price of one. In many cities here, wearing a uniform is a point of pride and challenges the biased observer to see a scholar instead of a truant. Some argue that uniforms democratize what students wear so the status of affluence is muted, and yet accessories often undercut these worthy intentions. In Poly’s Middle and Upper divisions, the lack of uniforms gives students the chance to express their individuality and, at times, test societal norms.

How we see ourselves and how others see us is the common thread that holds these perspectives together. In some cases agency abounds, and in others conformity supersedes choice. But throughout, our self-confidence flexes within the context of where we are and what we are trying to say. If the pattern holds true, the required uniform or our choice of costume aligns with what we hold dear — access, respect, autonomy, authenticity.

At the end of "The Wizard of Oz," we recognize the courage of the lion, the scarecrow’s intelligence, and yes, the tin woodman’s heart. Each reminds us in its own way about perception and reality and the power to transcend viewpoints that limit us.

JWB
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