“I hope I’m not dressed too casually,” I remarked, as I pulled my black, three-tiered Minnetonkas up over my black skinny jeans.
I was heading to my daughter’s alma mater to speak.
“It is Friday, though,” I reasoned, “and the students probably have a jeans day today, what with basketball and all.”
“What with basketball and all” = the boys bball team won the state semi-final game last night and they’ll be back at the Breslin Center in East Lansing in the morning for the final.
So the kids would most likely have a jeans day.
“Yeah,” my daughter said, “they probably do have a jeans day.”
Nowadays the students at that school wear uniforms, but my daughter was a student there before uniforms, back when they had to follow a very strict dress code.
Back then jeans days were granted on select Fridays and they were a huge, happy deal.
“I remember earning a special jeans day once,” she mused. “I think I got to wear them on a Wednesday.
It was a glorious morning, as all jeans day mornings were, dressing without the pressure of the code and looking cute for a change.
So I went to school in my jeans and a t-shirt while everyone else didn’t.
And that’s the moment I discovered that happiness is only real when it’s shared.”
“That’s such a touching little story,” I said, as I clasped my necklace, “I think I’ll jot it down.”
I love my girl’s heart. I love that she couldn’t enjoy the privilege of jeans while her friends suffered in khakis and collared shirts.
Not everyone is like that.