The Apple

From time immemorial there has been a thing in American schools called a “dress code.”  In the student handbooks there are lists of DOs and DON’Ts.  Historically the rules were strict and numerous; but it didn’t matter how many rules you had, you still could not anticipate all of the emerging fads and fashion statements from pop stars and athletes, whose sartorial choices were widely adopted by the student population.  Nobody has ever liked the dress code. 

#1       Kids hate it.  They see their wardrobe and grooming choices as personal expression, their free speech, their identities – and not just as individuals, but as groups as well.  The skaters, the bikers, the jocks, the goths, the soshes, the hippies, the band kids, the choir kids, the drama kids, the regular kids, and all the other sub-cultures on campus have their uniforms, all of which have unique challenges to the dress code.     

#2       Teachers hate it.  Every staff member is to uphold the dress code, and report violators to the office; but they do not always agree.  Students quickly figure out which teachers could not care less what they wear to class and which teachers are dress code hawks

#3       Parents hate it.  Some think the rules are just stupid – not the school’s business!  Other parents want to support the school, which means that shopping with their kids for back-to-school clothes can become a battleground.  And what no parent wants is to get a phone call at work about skirts too short, hair too long, inappropriate words or pictures on shirts, or bare midriffs.  Never.  Ever.  Ever.         

#4       Administrators hate it.  It is a nightmare to enforce, the push back is constant, and at the end of day, they do not want to spend their time there. 

As we are all aware, changes have taken place.  Numerous lawsuits challenged the legality and the inconsistent applications of the rules.  As a result, dress codes have been altered, or gutted, or in some places have disappeared altogether.

But they still exist, and whatever form they take, the rules need to be enforced, and that is where my friend Joe came in.  He was an assistant principal in charge of “student discipline” — the “hard guy.”  He had a tender heart for kids, and it pained him to deal out consequences; but he had a job to do, which he did with diligence. 

Joe was a man of keen intelligence, a shrewd observer of student life, and something of a philosopher.  He was a mentor and shared a couple of keen observations, learned in his many years in the education business, and which had direct application to the business of the dress code.  Once he said to me, “Timothy, my lad, the revolution takes place at the point of the law.  They don’t destroy it; they eat away at it.”

For example, back in the day, if the code called for “dresses below the knee,” girls came to school with their hems just above the knee.  And when the rule was relaxed to the “top of the knee,” there came the miniskirts.  When the hair rule was “to the collar,” the boys wore it to the shoulder.  The rules became simpler and fewer in number.  After a few years there was not much in the way of rules for student dress; except that the State of California required footwear, and with that kids went barefoot.  Finally, the collective view among educators was, “Please wear something!”  That was the dawn of the “Streaker Era.”

But for all the rule changes in all the dress codes in all the schools from coast to coast, there has always been the one rule that never goes away and always leads to confusion, resentment, and unfairness.  You can never have enough regulations to address every possible infraction, so there is the catchall phrase, the omnibus rule in the handbook which reads, “Students are not to dress in a manner that may be disruptive to the educational process.”

Joe did amaze me with his clear headedness, his kindness, his equanimity, and his uncanny ability to salve the feelings of angry students and their parents.  But there was that one day!

The girl was sent to the office by her math teacher, and Joe pronounced her appearance disruptive.  She was in bare feet, wearing loose bib overalls, no shirt, and the skimpiest under garment.  Her pulchritude was on display, and Joe really berated her and said that she was making a disgrace of herself.  Told her how inappropriate she was and that her mother would have to take her home.  She burst into tears.  He called the mom and told her to come right down.  The mom was aghast and apologetic, saying that when she sent her daughter out the door that morning, she looked fine.  “What had happened”?  

While waiting for the mother to arrive, Joe rehearsed in his head what he would tell her.  When the intercom beeped to announce that the mother was there, he collected his notes and his thoughts.  The mother came in with a fury toward her daughter, then looked at the daughter, and then turned to stare at Joe with a quizzical expression.  As Joe stared back at the mother, and then again at the daughter, he was seeing double.  Mom was dressed just like the daughter.   Bare feet.  Bib overalls.  No shirt.  Skimpy bra.   

He told me later that the mom gave him an earful, but in the end, she was gracious as he uncomfortably explained the perceived violation of the dress code.  He also imported to me another gem of wisdom on school life: “Timothy, my lad, the apple surely does not fall far from the tree.”

Note

This topic of what to wear to school may seem completely irrelevant as our kids and grandkids prepare for distance learning, because they may in great numbers attend class at home in their PJ’s.  We will not be dealing with bare midriffs.  But when they return to campus, we will have a new dress code issue, which is what reminded me this week of my late friend, Joe. 

Masks!

Already there are sides being drawn.  For the sake of my grandsons, students everywhere, my former colleagues, dedicated teachers all over, and all of us at home; I pray fervently that everyone will put aside personal considerations and make this one dress code rule a thoroughly expected practice.