Uniforms

People in general wear many hats invisible to the naked eye. Woman: wife, mother, daughter, niece, aunt, friend, and so forth. None of those hats have a specific uniform but the professions, hobbies, and passions which one establishes who they are, often do wear uniforms.

I've worn many uniforms in my life. Most are now tucked away in the Halloween costume bin in my basement. I've played nurse as a mother though never held the degree, and I've played chauffeur for my family, yet I've never worn the cap.

The most well-worn uniform I've had has been my apron. I've disciplined myself to wear it every day to protect my clothes and portray professionalism. I first got my green apron the year I started my business.

A uniform for myself and my employees complete with our names embroidered over our hearts. My apron suffered from many stains, mostly paint, pollen, and pen marks. Weekly washing removed the smeared muddy greens and even the occasional blood stains. At my five-year anniversary of owning my flower shop, I updated our aprons to the color black. Clean and professional with less stains bleeding through.

I hung up my apron in 2021. Occasionally I wear it and design flowers but for the most part it is retired. I never considered retiring, but it happened. Making me wonder did I retire from the other uniforms or did I just grow out of them.

As a dancer, my costumes, leotards, and dance shoes were my uniform every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday night.

As a cheerleader my uniform was always perfectly pressed for performances; and as a pupil enrolled in Catholic school, my uniform was my shield.

As years passed, I moved on from grammar school at Ursuline Academy in Springfield MA, to Cathedral High School three miles further down the road. Changing uniforms to a more relaxed code. At Ursuline we were required to wear the green Plaid romper until we got into seventh grade then we were allowed to wear the Plaid skirt. Always worn with a white Peter Pan collared shirt, white knee socks, brown shoes, and an optional green cardigan.

No jewelry, nail polish, or makeup was allowed, though in eighth grade my girlfriends and I would use mascara and lip gloss. Sister Nesta, the art teacher, commented about our long lashes and shiny lips but never did anything but wink at us.

In high school the dress code was more lenient, another green Plaid skirt similar to the ones I wore in 7th and 8th grade. The skirt had lines crossing in yellow, red, and blue which made choosing a blouse fun. Any color blouse was allowed as long as the shirt had a collar. Turtlenecks were considered part of the uniform code also. Freshman year I found a striped shirt with a rainbow of colors. It had a collar, so I wore it. I remember showing up at my neighbor's house after school to babysit and the mother saw my uniform and was shocked that the shirt I had on was permissible. She said, “It doesn't match the Plaid skirt at all.”

I told her “As long as it has a collar, we can wear whatever we want.” I explained that I imagined the green plaid skirt was actually black so it was neutral or invisible thus I could showcase shirts, socks and shoes. All the girls liked this because we were allowed to personalize a signature look.

Some girls wore super high heels, many wore flats, and fashionable boots in the winter. We weren't allowed to wear our sneakers unless it was gym day, and even then, most girls chose more fashionable shoes.

Personally, I enjoyed the uniform at Ursuline, it was professional looking and less of a competition to have better shoes than another. Wearing a uniform allowed me to feel part of a community. It allowed a level playing ground for everyone and making friends was more about meeting people and not judging her appearances.

Awkward pre-teenage girls like myself definitely enjoyed the shield of wearing a uniform because it permitted all to engage in friendships and really learn about the person wearing the uniform without judging them by their clothes.

That's why when I bought my flower shop, I enforced the apron dress code. It allowed all of us to look and feel like a team. I did have to enforce the no pajama pants to work and no bed bun hairdos many times to accommodate the professional style the aprons portrayed to my clients.

As much as I love a uniform, I've long since retired wearing collared shirts. It's the one article of clothing that I have purged most of from my closet. You would think it would be plaid that I was sick of, but it was the collared shirt. It has been extinguished from my wardrobe.

It's been over 40 years since I wore a Catholic school uniform, and probably just as long since I wore a collared shirt. With the collared shirts retired from my wardrobe, and the remaining uniforms now in my Halloween costume collection in my basement; I do wonder, did I outgrow the uniforms, or did I retire from them all.

Going to Catholic school has made me a Catholic, it wasn't the uniform that made me Catholic.

Taking dance lessons and dancing on stage made me a dancer, it wasn't the costume or leotard or shoes.

Cheering at sporting events and performing made me a cheerleader, not the uniform. So why do I feel the need to keep these uniforms bundled up in my house?

The uniform identified me to others. The uniform gave me confidence. The uniforms brought me friends, built communities, and allowed me to express myself authentically. Now as a 54-year-old woman, I cannot wear those physical uniforms anymore. Yet they all live within me.

I've learned that being my authentic self was gained from those uniforms. I've also learned that being my authentic me is only acceptable at certain places. I want to say it's appropriate for me to be the authentic me at home and it is when I define home as being with myself. However, the home in which I live is rarely accepting of me.

Living, breathing, and working at the dance studio, the flower shop, and in the schools I attended were the places where I could be authentically me.

The homes where I lay my head have become places to adjust my behavior, habits, and hobbies to protect myself from ridicule. I am always amazed at how often I can embarrass my family without any effort.

My husband's rejection of my enthusiastic spirit at sporting events, concerts, and even when displaying heartfelt excitement for future events has disturbed him for year. He has passed this trait on to our children. It saddens me to feel so stifled in my own home. Like all my previously worn uniforms, my authentic self has to get tucked away at home.

I could pack up that Halloween costume bin and donate it, but I honestly still use those costumes on Halloween. I literally have over eighty different costumes from Barbie to a flapper, to Minnie mouse, a ballerina, a go-go girl, Red Riding Hood, and so many more. I wear many of them every Halloween as I switch costumes between receiving new trick or treaters at my door. When I do that, my husband leaves the house. He wants no part in my " silly and stupid Halloween games."

My children have become a little more accepting of my Halloween shenanigans. As they have participated over the years to help the trick or treaters play the games that I provide at the door.

Luckily for me my husband is out of the house often, so my writer’s hat and cheerleader hat can come out to play with my authentic self. Cheering for my own goals, enthusiastically helping others, and realizing I haven't retired from any of my past uniforms. So perhaps I have outgrown some. But I wonder, how have I outgrown being a dance teacher, a florist, a cheerleader, and a student? And I realize that I have not. I've just evolved into dancing on a keyboard, loving and respecting flowers, enthusiastically allowing my energy to flow into the authentic me, which I call my home. And for those not liking my home, there's the door.