For kids and other people in school, Labor Day Weekend is like New Year’s.
It’s a time of reinvention, when you start over with a clean slate, and make all kinds of outlandish promises about the “new you.”
You get to shop for new school supplies — pristine binders, with folders that haven’t yet been stuffed with disordered worksheets and tattered book reports marked “good, but VERY (underline underline underline) late.”
You also get to pick new clothes, and, best of all, a new personality.
Forever unsatisfied by the “old me,” I used to plot to reinvent myself every fall. Especially in middle school.
This year, I’d tell myself, I’m going to be the really organized girl, who gets homework done the day it’s assigned. The one who does it right after school, before even turning on the TV.
Or:
This year, I’m going to have exquisite new handwriting. I’ll write all my papers in pen and ink, just like I practiced all through August with that “Calligraphy for Beginners” book. And I’ll be envied throughout the land for my grand penmanship. I’ll hold workshops in the center area during free period, or teach the popular kids when they invite me over to their homes.
Or:
This year, I’ll be skinny and really good at gym. No more David’s Cookies. And whatever sport we’re playing, I’ll “be the ball.”
Or, most disastrously:
This year, I’ll be the girl in the really cool hat.
None of these fantasy personas ever worked out. But that last one really bombed. Yes, I was the Girl in the Hat, but it was not a cool hat.
I should have realized this when my father commented, “Hey! That’s one smart hat.”
It was 6th grade. That summer had been my first at sleepaway camp, which was an outdoorsy, hippy Quaker naked deal in Vermont. (The naked part is irrelevant to this story, but deserves its own post, at least. To follow.) On the packing list for camp was a felt, water-carrying hat.
They sold these at EMS – Eastern Mountain Sports – and they really did hold liquid, so if you were in an emergency camping situation and had to bring water back to the campground from a spring or lake, you could haul it in your hat.
I picked one in dark green. It was round, with a floppy brim. I wore it all summer, and considered it my trademark – one that would carry over perfectly well into the school year, for maximum popularity.
It didn’t have the effect I hoped.
Instead of “Wow, awesome hat,” I got: “What’s with the dorky hat, Spazz?” Even when I boasted that it could carry water, no one was impressed. Yeah, I thought – just wait till we’re in a life-or-death situation and you’re perishing from thirst, and I save your life with my hat. Then you’ll be plenty impressed.
The green felt hat was my New Thing, and I was sticking with it, just on principle. I continued to wear it all through fall and winter, though it became a growing challenge. Every day, a couple of boys would swipe it off my head and toss it around while I jumped with my hand in the air yelling, “Hey, my hat! Hey you guys, give it back. You guys, I’m really serious, you guys! Give it back!”
I got sick of this drill, and of the hat itself. It was hot, and it made my head itch. But just to show up one day without my signature accessory would be such a quitter move. It would be admitting defeat.
So I came up with a way to lose the hat, and still save face.
Here’s what I did: one day in February, I came to school hatless. And when everyone asked, “Where’s the hat?” I told them, “I can’t wear it any more. My doctor said to take it off.”
I wasn’t giving up on my hat by choice. It was a medical necessity. Genius, right?
I think they all looked at me with new respect after that. Kidding. They looked at me like I had a scalp fungus. Wouldn’t you?
Anyway, the lesson is, just be your old self.
Ever try to be something else? Tell me about it in the comments.
Happy Fall.
HI Laura, I was at RHHLivve this weekend and came to your site asap. I love me some funny.
And this is hilarious. I can see that much has been riffed on about the hat. Understandably.
I also love the 'doctor's orders'. I can remember using that one a few times. And using other experts too. Like when my mum still hadn't noticed that I had grown breasts. I had three brothers, no sisters and loathed the idea that they would notice so I wore lots of baggy stuff until I was close to a B cup. After weeks of chickening out of asking my mom to buy me a bra I finally blurted it out after she said 'sweet dreams'…'oh and mom, my gym teacher says I need a bra'…
Hi Gillian! Thanks for checking out the blog. Wasn't RHH Live great?
I love the “my gym teacher says” intro. That's exactly something I would've done. The “by no means is this coming from me” route.
HI Laura, I was at RHHLivve this weekend and came to your site asap. I love me some funny.
And this is hilarious. I can see that much has been riffed on about the hat. Understandably.
I also love the ‘doctor’s orders’. I can remember using that one a few times. And using other experts too. Like when my mum still hadn’t noticed that I had grown breasts. I had three brothers, no sisters and loathed the idea that they would notice so I wore lots of baggy stuff until I was close to a B cup. After weeks of chickening out of asking my mom to buy me a bra I finally blurted it out after she said ‘sweet dreams’…’oh and mom, my gym teacher says I need a bra’…
Hi Gillian! Thanks for checking out the blog. Wasn’t RHH Live great?
I love the “my gym teacher says” intro. That’s exactly something I would’ve done. The “by no means is this coming from me” route.
Picture PLEASE! Also, I think I had the same calligraphy book.
Picture PLEASE! Also, I think I had the same calligraphy book.
Love this. I went through a hat phase in early high school. It was a sad, oversized fedora, as I was also obsessed with Indiana Jones. I thought it was cool. It was not. It was also a little bit lesbian-ish. Not a good look for a freshman.
I can't wait for the Quaker Hippie Naked Camp posts. Best. Stories. Ever.
Well, it sounds like a great look for a lesbian-ish freshman. But since that wasn't you, yes, it sounds unfortunate. You really have to know what you're doing to pull off a hat.
Secondly, I did not know you had a blog! Can't wait to browse it.
My goal is now to have all three Nancys comment on the same post.
Love this. I went through a hat phase in early high school. It was a sad, oversized fedora, as I was also obsessed with Indiana Jones. I thought it was cool. It was not. It was also a little bit lesbian-ish. Not a good look for a freshman.
I can’t wait for the Quaker Hippie Naked Camp posts. Best. Stories. Ever.
Well, it sounds like a great look for a lesbian-ish freshman. But since that wasn’t you, yes, it sounds unfortunate. You really have to know what you’re doing to pull off a hat.
Secondly, I did not know you had a blog! Can’t wait to browse it.
My goal is now to have all three Nancys comment on the same post.
Yes, I do believe your felt hat stage was around the time I gave up on copycatting and started my career as a solo artist.
Did it really carry water??? Being prepared for emergencies constitutes a whole new level of dorkdom. And FYI, if I’m dying of thirst in the forest, I’m trekking to the spring lake myself before I drink the water with long black hairs and green lint in it, thank you very much.
Yes, it carried water. It was the pre-9/11 equivalent of a “go bag.”
We should change the expression from “I’ll eat my hat” to “I’ll drink from my sister’s hat.” That takes it to a new level of certainty. You have to be pretty sure you know what you’re talking about before you make a wager like that.
I have fond memories of that hat, the hair bunches, and of course the emerging person underneath. Dorkdom was always okay with me — I just didn’t recognize it as such. But then Moms are clueless about such things. I do like your insights and your moral.
Speak for your own clueless-mom self, please. I’m a mom, remember? I like to think I can spot dorkfulness when I see it.
Right on, Sis. Dorkocity is hard to miss if you have an eye for it, which some moms do indeed. It’s too bad there was no chart for Mom illustrating How To Tell If Your Kid Is A Major Dork. Like the posters that tell you how to spot someone choking. Might look about the same.
At least there are no posters for How To Tell if Your Mom is a Major Dork. Comes from deep within.
Oops.
ha! i totally would look forward to this time of year solely for the shopping. yes, even as a child i was a shop-a-holic! but then i was more into having brand new pens and composition books then the newest fashions. you see, i went to 12 years of catholic school so the only way to display my fashion taste was through my book bag of choice and school supplies. luckily im old now and can wear what i want!!! just did a fall fashion post today. check it out, i promise there are no green felt hats included 🙂
But I bet you rocked that plaid skirt like no one else. Damn, 12 years – I guess it's true what they say about Catholic school girls: they're clothes-crazed! I still love new pens. And notebooks. They always hold so much promise when I buy them. To me they say, “I belong to someone who writes every day.”
Oh man, you just GET it. I had a multi-coloured pork pie hat that looked just like the one on the singer from Big Audio Dynamite. And another time, probably inspired by the Baby-Sitters’ Club, I had a floppy velvet one pinned up with a big brooch.
I suck at hats.
Oh yes, I do get it. I get all things “dork.” I love the image of the floppy velvet one. That’s so early nineties or something. Though I think I see a lot of Hasidic women in that look.
enjoyed the post- brought back fun memories (altho no hat stories) of summer camp- 😉
Oh, I haven't even started with the camp stories. Those are doozies.
Just reading the tags at the top gave me a shudder. And, possibly related, a flashback to a pair of white pants with a colorful abstract flower pattern and…… matching suspenders. I believe there may have also been a sharp hat involved, but that was really the least of the trouble. That doesn't fall under total reinvention attempts, but it's what floated up through the jetlag fog…
You're right, that assortment of tags does conjure a chilling image. I wonder if our pants were by the same designer? Mine were white bellbottoms with giant blue and red butterflies. No suspenders, though. I knew there was something missing.
I think we were commenting on each others' blogs at exactly the same time. Or, you read my comment and returned the favor at the speed of light.
Oh man, you just GET it. I had a multi-coloured pork pie hat that looked just like the one on the singer from Big Audio Dynamite. And another time, probably inspired by the Baby-Sitters' Club, I had a floppy velvet one pinned up with a big brooch.
I suck at hats.
Oh yes, I do get it. I get all things “dork.” I love the image of the floppy velvet one. That's so early nineties or something. Though I think I see a lot of Hasidic women in that look.
Yes, Laura, you are my dork soul sister, I swear.
When I was 16 I had my very first job. Somehow, bless their hearts, the oldest, most affluent designer clothing store in Tulsa hired me…ME…to answer the switchboard phone on Saturdays for a summer. I had arrived. See, I wasn't even from Tulsa, I was from Sand Springs on the far west side, so this was a big, big deal. To me. And I was going to work there…well, answer the phone on Saturdays. I had been discovered.
Answering “Good morning, Miss Jackson's” and hooking them up with lady's lingerie soon became a tad boring. I decided to snaz it up a bit and add some class to the place, thank you very much. I tried several international voices to answer the phone. But, FRENCH…yes, definitely French. That would be so very much better than my Oklahoma ta-waaang.
Good mor-ning, Mezzz Jacksons.
That was a bit better. I KNOW….”Bonjour, Mezz JackSones.” Sooo much better.
How was I to know the owner would call in on a Saturday?
Oui! Moi job was petite.
Maybe if I had a French barrette to wear, mademoiselle?
Haha! I tried on a slightly British, slightly old-timey-peasant accent for a while. Instead of maybe, I'd say “Per'aps.” My sister was like, “What the hell is with 'per'aps', dorkus?” If it didn't pass the sister test, I knew it wouldn't fly in school. I ditched that one. Was probably around the same time as the hat.
Lucky for siblings. I went thru a stage that I wanted to be deep and mysterious. So, I would look at everyone deeply in their eyes, not just quick glances. Whatever the hell that was for. I must have read a book. My brother at dinner one night, “Why do you stare at everyone and not just look? You're such a creep, freak.” I moved on to artsy.
OMG, you're right – we really are dork soul sisters.
Yes, I do believe your felt hat stage was around the time I gave up on copycatting and started my career as a solo artist.
Did it really carry water??? Being prepared for emergencies constitutes a whole new level of dorkdom. And FYI, if I'm dying of thirst in the forest, I'm trekking to the spring lake myself before I drink the water with long black hairs and green lint in it, thank you very much.
Yes, it carried water. It was the pre-9/11 equivalent of a “go bag.”
We should change the expression from “I'll eat my hat” to “I'll drink from my sister's hat.” That takes it to a new level of certainty. You have to be pretty sure you know what you're talking about before you make a wager like that.
I have fond memories of that hat, the hair bunches, and of course the emerging person underneath. Dorkdom was always okay with me — I just didn't recognize it as such. But then Moms are clueless about such things. I do like your insights and your moral.
Speak for your own clueless-mom self, please. I'm a mom, remember? I like to think I can spot dorkfulness when I see it.
Right on, Sis. Dorkocity is hard to miss if you have an eye for it, which some moms do indeed. It's too bad there was no chart for Mom illustrating How To Tell If Your Kid Is A Major Dork. Like the posters that tell you how to spot someone choking. Might look about the same.
At least there are no posters for How To Tell if Your Mom is a Major Dork. Comes from deep within.
Oops.
ha! i totally would look forward to this time of year solely for the shopping. yes, even as a child i was a shop-a-holic! but then i was more into having brand new pens and composition books then the newest fashions. you see, i went to 12 years of catholic school so the only way to display my fashion taste was through my book bag of choice and school supplies. luckily im old now and can wear what i want!!! just did a fall fashion post today. check it out, i promise there are no green felt hats included 🙂
But I bet you rocked that plaid skirt like no one else. Damn, 12 years – I guess it’s true what they say about Catholic school girls: they’re clothes-crazed! I still love new pens. And notebooks. They always hold so much promise when I buy them. To me they say, “I belong to someone who writes every day.”
enjoyed the post- brought back fun memories (altho no hat stories) of summer camp- 😉
Oh, I haven’t even started with the camp stories. Those are doozies.
Just reading the tags at the top gave me a shudder. And, possibly related, a flashback to a pair of white pants with a colorful abstract flower pattern and…… matching suspenders. I believe there may have also been a sharp hat involved, but that was really the least of the trouble. That doesn’t fall under total reinvention attempts, but it’s what floated up through the jetlag fog…
You’re right, that assortment of tags does conjure a chilling image. I wonder if our pants were by the same designer? Mine were white bellbottoms with giant blue and red butterflies. No suspenders, though. I knew there was something missing.
I think we were commenting on each others’ blogs at exactly the same time. Or, you read my comment and returned the favor at the speed of light.
Yes, Laura, you are my dork soul sister, I swear.
When I was 16 I had my very first job. Somehow, bless their hearts, the oldest, most affluent designer clothing store in Tulsa hired me…ME…to answer the switchboard phone on Saturdays for a summer. I had arrived. See, I wasn’t even from Tulsa, I was from Sand Springs on the far west side, so this was a big, big deal. To me. And I was going to work there…well, answer the phone on Saturdays. I had been discovered.
Answering “Good morning, Miss Jackson’s” and hooking them up with lady’s lingerie soon became a tad boring. I decided to snaz it up a bit and add some class to the place, thank you very much. I tried several international voices to answer the phone. But, FRENCH…yes, definitely French. That would be so very much better than my Oklahoma ta-waaang.
Good mor-ning, Mezzz Jacksons.
That was a bit better. I KNOW….”Bonjour, Mezz JackSones.” Sooo much better.
How was I to know the owner would call in on a Saturday?
Oui! Moi job was petite.
Maybe if I had a French barrette to wear, mademoiselle?
Haha! I tried on a slightly British, slightly old-timey-peasant accent for a while. Instead of maybe, I’d say “Per’aps.” My sister was like, “What the hell is with ‘per’aps’, dorkus?” If it didn’t pass the sister test, I knew it wouldn’t fly in school. I ditched that one. Was probably around the same time as the hat.
Lucky for siblings. I went thru a stage that I wanted to be deep and mysterious. So, I would look at everyone deeply in their eyes, not just quick glances. Whatever the hell that was for. I must have read a book. My brother at dinner one night, “Why do you stare at everyone and not just look? You’re such a creep, freak.” I moved on to artsy.
OMG, you’re right – we really are dork soul sisters.