Torn on Uniforms

Try to buy half a dozen navy blue waffle weave polo-type short sleeve shirts, size medium, in August. I dare you. Here's a tip: take mace.

My son's school has implemented its very first School Uniform policy this year. Just in time for prime department store riot season. And I thought it was bad in the crayon aisle!

Overall, I'm torn on this uniform idea. Sure, it'll simplify my life. Sure it'll simplify HIS life. Sure it'll put kids on an even playing field and remove a primary cause of teasing in the classroom, and possibly solve the national deficit. But darned it if I haven't spent the last seven and a half years trying to teach my son to cherish his individuality. (Not the times I barked that he should act more like his well-behaved sister. But the rest of the time.)

I've seen Max through his "Navy Blue Dinner Jacket" phase, his "Bicycle Helmet as Fashion Accessory" phase, his "Backwards Underwear So He Could See the Superheroes" phase… so it's a sad descent into conformity that I witness now. Conformity that, before long, may send him over the cliffs with the other lemmings.

Naturally, it's counterproductive to show these mixed feelings to my son. Instead, I've been outwardly supportive of the uniform idea, while suggesting subtle ways he might express his individual sense of style. Such as by adopting a trademark neon sock color, or adding "I LIKE IKE" buttons to his backpack. But my boy - he's too clever for his britches. He sees this immediately as an invitation to "acquire more stuff."

A cool new lunchbox! With Godzilla…and Crocodile Hunter…and N'Sync on it! And one of those neat thermos contraptions that transforms into a razor scooter. And a backpack with a teleportation accessory. Or at least a mechanical pencil built into the side with a supercharged air-pump pencil-ejector button.

Who is he kidding? Where would one find a mechanical pencil in August?

That argument about uniforms saving you money in the long run? Right. And they'll still respect you in the morning, too.

At the very least, I've resisted buying the recommended special sub-variety of navy blue waffle weave polo-type short sleeve shirts - the ones sporting his school name and its trademark "lemming" mascot.

As I see it, the traditional purpose of having special "school" clothes earmarked for school-wearing purposes ONLY (on pain of the dreaded maternal death-glare) really isn't practical until such time as a child reaches an age were he understands that school isn't "that place you have to sit still in-between dirt-sledding contests on the playground."

I see no reason to ask Max to change into play clothes when he gets home. He gets one set dirty enough, thank you very much.

So I face a difficult choice: Let him run around all afternoon in a filthy school uniform, or face the double laundry penalty. I'm afraid I just don't have June Cleaver's sense of shame. It's a curse. But at least I have the good sense to not let my poor mothering skills reflect on the school.

I have to admit that at least part of my School Uniform trepidation stems from the fact that in one more year, my daughter will enter this same school, and sadly I will no longer be treated to her insane clothing combinations. Her fashion sense is, after all, about half of my humor material. I've seen her through her "Bag Lady" look, her "But Of Course They Match - They All Have FLOWERS!" look, her "How Many Hair Butterflies Can I Wear Simultaneously?" look.

And I've always applauded her individuality. Not the times I barked that she should act more like her well-behaved brother. But the rest of the time.