Now let's go back to the lost memory. The setting is 1977, 5th Grade at Remsen St. Mary's grade school, and a cold winter in Iowa. My mom's role as wardrober to my family is the focal point of this story. To give you a little insight to my amazingly talented mom; she made (sewed) virtually all of our clothes as kids. Every shirt, vest, pant, and dress were made by hand by my mom. The craftsmanship was impeccable. I have many memories of spending hours in the fabric stores while Mom carefully picked out the materials and planned the outfits of her wardrobe line for the upcoming season. As a side note, this talent carried over with me being the lucky recipient of the BEST Barbie Doll clothes. Ken had real "whitie tightie" underwear with a fly and all (a complete mini duplicate of the real thing) and Barbie had a wardrobe that Paris Hilton would envy. I will tell you that as a ten year old, I had no clue that every mother did not made all of their children's clothing. But I was fully aware that my Barbie wardrobe was the best, bar none. My collection was the envy of the 5th grade girls.
Mom loved a challenge and would take on robes, Sunday dresses and overalls. No sewing challenge seemed too much for her. Mom was (and is) so meticulous for detail that no one would know that my clothes were different; just of better quality. But there were some limitations that led Mom to purchase some of our clothing items. Winter coats were one of these. And it was cold in Iowa, so it was equally as difficult to replicate a coat by hand that could handle the bitterly cold winters. This was one of the rare occasions that Mom would make the trip to LeMars and buy clothing at the Fashionette clothing store. She would wait until the end of the season and buy on sale. We knew these store bought clothes were a special treat, hand picked and paid for by Mom.
Let me give you some more background on my Mom's talents and creative eye. She is also talented in art, woodworking, and interior decorating. As a child, I remember her doing side jobs for the local interior design store. She would upholster furniture, refinish end tables and make curtains. My mom has impeccable taste and an eye for design. We lived in Remsen, Iowa (farm town with population 1,500) and we were the only house with a back door painted bright yellow (you see where we are going with this...obviously my mom loved yellow). Mom thought the door color "added character" to the house. She stripped our upright piano and stained it baby blue. Our entire house had bright green carpet. Mom wouldn't just hang a picture, she would use a ribbon, add a collection of antiques or paint around it. And somehow, everything always came together and looked amazing. My mom was trendy and edgy with her fashion and decorating before those words were cliche.
In the dead of winter in 1977, my mom decided to hit the Fashionette on the prowl for some after-Christmas sales on winter coats. She came home, obviously pleased, with a large bag and a big smile. Mom found the perfect coat for me. Out of the bag she pulls an over sized bright yellow knee-length coat. It was puffy and hooded with a thin apple green stripe on the waistline. Other than this green stripe, the entire coat (yes, ENTIRE coat) was bright canary yellow all the way to the fur-look fleece outlining the hood. My gut reaction was that this wasn’t good. Mom felt otherwise…a beautiful coat and a great find that will fit me through the next winter too! More panic…I knew this wasn’t good. But I couldn’t hurt my mom’s feelings or be ungrateful for this store bought coat purchased just for me, so I hesitantly wore it to school the next day.
I put on my new coat and walked to school. Through the hustle and bustle of the school hallway, there were no compliments or comments on my coat from my classmates. But I did get some funny looks. I was old enough to know that this wasn’t a good sign. I quickly stuffed the coat (with quite a bit of effort) into my locker. Lunchtime arrived and it was time to parade in my new coat again. All lunches were served at our high school, so we would walk five blocks daily to eat lunch (BTW…my kids are horrified of this injustice). We also ate in waves of two classes at a time. Our 5th grade class ate with the 6th graders. As we entered the cafeteria, the 6th graders did not feel the need to give me the same break on my flamboyant coat as my classmates. “Hey, look, it’s Big Bird!!!” one boy yelled. The circle of kids around him laughed. I was mortified. There I stood in my new yellow coat knowing they were right, I looked exactly like Big Bird.
This was the year of the parkas. Every kid had a parka for a winter coat in navy, black, or maroon. And there I was a canary among mice with my Big Bird coat. I ignored them and surrounded myself with friends, trying to blend in and got through lunch. It was my first experience with pure embarrassment and humiliation. Daily that same boy taunted me with Big Bird comments to the chagrin of his friends. But I couldn’t hurt my mom’s feelings nor could I expect her to buy me another coat, so I followed the same routine day after day. I wore the yellow coat, was heckled at lunch, and ignored my adversaries. I think they finally tired of no response and my lack of emotion from their teasing. Eventually I stopped hearing the Big Bird comments. The blessing in disguise was that the yellow coat showed dirt easily and it was filthy by the end of that winter. My mom deemed it ruined. Although this was a sad day for Mom, it was a happy day for me. Big Bird would not be flying back for the next winter. And by the way, I was the proud recipient of a hand-me-down parka the next winter. It was navy blue.
Not only did I survive this childhood devastation, but I can also say that I now pride myself on going bold on clothing choices and color on occasion. Life is too short to live it bland and I thank my mom for that lesson in life. And thanks for the compliment, Scott. It sure is nice to know that I actually do look good in yellow.
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