It’s All About The Dress …Code That Is

Sprinkled Notes by Julie Seedorf

 

Published in the Albert Lea Tribune and the Courier Sentinel the week of September  27, 2018, ©Julie Seedorf 2018

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Typical high school dress of the 60’s

Watching my cousins get ready for school while I was a visitor to their home in California many years ago, I was thankful. Yes, kids can be thankful. I was in my early grade school years. I was thankful because they had to wear uniforms in their Catholic school, and back in Minnesota I didn’t.

We had a dress code, but it didn’t involve uniforms. Girls had to wear skirts or dresses, and boys had to wear dress pants and dress shirts. In the winter in Minnesota, it gets cold so we would put on pants underneath our skirts and dresses to get to school and then take them off from under our dresses and hang them up until the end of the day. You didn’t see jeans and T-shirts, but you also didn’t see uniforms.

Parents whose kids wore uniforms to school were in favor of it. It made school shopping much easier. There were no fights or arguments about who was wearing what and if someone was better than someone else because they all looked the same.

I did a little survey on different schools in Minnesota, Iowa, and California by reading their student handbooks and occasionally asking one of the students about their dress codes.

I checked out the parents and students handbook from Loyola High School in Los Angeles. I have relatives that attend this school. It is a private, all-boys Catholic school. Their dress codes still are much stricter than public schools. No over-size apparel, military-style fatigues, sweatpants, torn or ragged clothing pr tank tops. Mode of dress is collared shirts, pants or shorts. Hair must be its natural color, and certain hairstyles are restricted, such as mohawks, lettering or lines, braids, dreadlocks, spiking or excessive hairstyles. No flip-flops or sandals. Also, boys must be clean-shaven.

At their sister high school for girls, the rules say no excessively low-cut tops, shirts, pants or shorts. No bare midriffs. No backless shirts. No ripped or torn jeans or excessively tight or baggy clothing. There are more restrictions as to jewelry, shoes, and hair.

I also checked the dress code for Ankeny High School in Ankeny, Iowa, as I have a relative there who attends the high school. It states no clothing advertising items that are illegal for use by minors or no clothing with displays of vulgarity, profanity or sexual remarks. No clothing that exposes the midriff, cleavage, buttocks or underwear, or pants that expose skin. Shoes with cleats and bedroom slippers cannot be worn or shoes with wheels. That’s right, wheels, not heels. Also, according to the student no chains or spikes.

At Shakopee High School in Shakopee, what I found in their student body handbook was much shorter than the other schools. It was a short paragraph — again no lewd or discriminatory words or safety hazards such as illegal activities. Students must cover their midriff, have no bra straps showing and all students must wear shoes.

I also looked up the dress code of United South Central School in my hometown, and I was impressed by their dress code list. It was more extensive than the big city schools, all except for the private Loyola High School. Though it contained much of the same, it was more detailed such as, “Any holes in jeans must be below fingertip length when fingertips are fully extended.” And “No short shorts/skirts(must be longer than your fingertips when fully extended) spaghetti straps, bare, exposed cleavage, bare midriffs, halter tops, backless tops, underwear showing, hood or gloves etc., etc.” The entire list is very detailed.

If you are wondering why I am obsessing about the dress code in schools, it was because of an article I read by the Associated Press in a Sunday paper, which highlighted a school in Alameda, California. The title of the article was on how school dress codes are seen increasingly as targeting girls. The gist of the column was that they are relaxing their dress codes and adopting a more permissive policy that is less sexist. Students now have the freedom to wear anything, as long as it includes a top, bottom, and shoes, and it covers their private parts. According to the statements, if they have rules such as no midriff tops or low-cut blouses, they are targeting one group and are singling out girls. Students can now come to school in hoodies, ripped jeans and even pajamas if they want.

My parents and I suspect the parents of all my friends, would have been aghast at these new dress codes. According to the article, teachers are relieved they now can focus on teaching rather than on how their students are dressed. I wonder how long it will be before other public schools adopt this dress code. I wonder if the difference in dress codes will be split between rural communities and private schools with a more stringent dress code and the city schools with the more relaxed mode of dress.

I never thought of the dress code specifically targeting women. However, in talking to female students in these schools, I was told the article was correct. They felt they were unfairly targeted. For example, in a couple of the schools, girls cannot wear a shirt that shows off their shoulders, such as the style now with cut-out shoulders, but they tell me if a guy wears a shirt, they can cut the sleeves off and shorten the shirt and show their shoulders, chest, and stomach. Another complaint is that male student-athletes for cross country and track run with their shirts off as well in practice. Not that the girls want to take their shirts off, but they just feel there is a double standard.

I must admit that it makes sense, especially when a male teen in the article in the Sunday paper stated, “If someone is wearing a short shirt and you can see her stomach, it’s not her fault that she’s distracting other people.” Of course, this is from a young gentleman who is for the relaxed dress code. I guess it isn’t the male student athlete’s fault if he is distracting the teenage girl with his shirtless body.

I am split in my feelings about this. I actually really like the dress codes and rules of Loyola High School. I feel they are teaching respect in dress and in manner. I noticed one of their rules apart from the dress code was no profanity or it would be punished. That doesn’t happen anymore in our public schools.

Back in the ’50s and ’60s, we celebrated when we could have a jean day in high school. Usually it was during Homecoming week or a special Friday, otherwise, it was business as usual with dresses, skirts and dress pants for boys and casual dress shirts.

All in all, no matter the dress code in the school, it is up to parents to control what their kids wear to school and to approve apparel that won’t offend or entice. Then maybe there wouldn’t be a need for a dress code, although after thinking about it in this designer world, I might vote on the side of school uniforms for everyone. It would solve the clothes wars — and maybe class wars — because everyone would be dressed the same.

Immigration, has it changed since the 1900’s?

Sprinkled Notes published in the Albert Lea Tribune and the Courier Sentinel the week of September 17, 2018

by Julie Seedorf © September 2018

Alex Haley stated, “When you start about family and lineage and ancestry, you are talking about every person on earth.” Alex Haley was an American writer and the author of the 1976 book “Roots.”

Recent events in the news in southern Minnesota have caused me to ponder my ancestry.

My Grandma Julia immigrated to America in the late 1800s. She came from Poland when she was 18 or 19 years old. She did not have a job lined up for her — at least that I know of —  and entered the United States through Ellis Island.

How she made it to Minnesota and to later meet my Polish grandfather, I do not know. I do know he was quite a bit older than she. They settled on a small farm on what was then the edge of Wells. She raised six children. My Grandmother Julia never spoke a word of English. I do not know why Grandma Julia did not learn the English language.

My grandfather died in 1934. In 1934 my mother was 26 years old. She had two older brothers and three younger brothers. My non-English speaking grandmother was left alone in a country where she couldn’t speak their language. Her children had to help support her.

It wasn’t popular to be a polish immigrant back in the early 1900s. They had to form their own communities because they were not well accepted and they were called some not-so-nice names.

My mom, dad and I lived with my grandmother until I was in sixth grade. I never questioned it. It was just my normal life. And I didn’t question the fact that I couldn’t understand a word my grandmother spoke. I never knew what my mom and uncles were saying to my grandmother. And no one offered to teach me the language, and I didn’t pick up much of what they were saying except by their facial expressions. All of my uncles and my mom spoke English fluently because they grew up here but they also knew their native language. My dad also lived in that household and never knew a word of Polish.

When my Polish-speaking family met other Polish-speaking people, they reverted to the Polish language when speaking. Because I was used to it, it never bothered me. I actually never thought much about it at all until I got older.

One day in my middle adult years as I was working as an office manager, some non-English speaking people came in for help. Only one could speak English — at least that is what I guessed since they were the one doing the speaking, and then would translate to the others. I felt uncomfortable. The reason I felt uncomfortable was that I wasn’t sure if they were talking about me or making fun of the advice I gave. There was no reason to think that, but it was my own insecurity making those feelings comes to pass. And part of me felt fear because I was treading in an unknown situation.

I remember back in the ’60s visiting my family in California. When we were out and about there were many people living there that were not speaking English. They were all around us. My family wasn’t concerned and took it to be their normal.

Residents of many other countries learn many different languages, and they are fluent in more than one. How many of us can claim that? When many of us Americans are tourists and visit other countries many times we do not speak their language so it should come as no surprise that tourists from other countries can’t speak ours. However, many do.

After I thought about my family and read about the comments being made because of an incident with a southern Minnesota police officer — and I am in no way defending or commenting on his actions right or wrong — I concluded as much as our country has progressed in many things we are still experiencing the same things my family was experiencing back in the early 1900s when it comes to immigrants.

My immigrant Polish grandmother that could never speak English raised six children who went on to become carpenters owning their own construction businesses, including working for movie stars and building government projects, a school teacher and business owner, an owner of a locksmith business, a McDonnell Douglas employee building aircrafts and a farmer. From those offspring came two doctors, an accountant being a partner in one of the largest accounting firms in the country and more. Not too bad for the roots coming from a non-English speaking Polish Immigrant.

My point is that in the early 1900s people did not accept those Polish immigrants because they were different from what was perceived as being right in America. I felt comfortable with my non-English speaking family because their language was normal for me. I felt uncomfortable in my adult years by people who spoke a different language that I did not understand, which was outside my normal world, but those people, too, were immigrants. It was my fear of the unknown that was making me uncomfortable.

My grandmother became naturalized at some point but not until later in her life, and she still raised honest, hard-working, good citizens in her children even if she was not a citizen. The process to become an American citizen was much different back then.

I don’t know what the answer is. I only know I would not be here if it were not for my immigrant non-English speaking grandmother and grandfather. So why are we afraid? I’m not sure. Are you?

A Nostalgia Attack

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cropped-sprinkled-column11.jpgMy column from the Albert Lea Tribune the week of September 13, 2018

copyright September 2018

I had a little nostalgia attack this week. It started with my granddaughter sending me a picture of the new dress she bought for Homecoming. It is her first Homecoming dance as a freshman. Tears came to my eyes as I looked at the photo.

Where had the time gone? My oldest two grandchildren are in high school, the others will be there soon. In a few years, they will graduate from high school and fly the coop. I remember when I graduated high school, it seems like yesterday. In my mind, it was just yesterday when my own kids passed that moment in their life.

As grandparents, we no longer have to babysit when the parents have to work or go out on a night on the town. We are no longer needed in the way we were. In a way, that fills me with sadness but yet I know we are needed in a different way to provide support when our grandchildren come to us for advice. But it is different.

Another tweak of nostalgia brought another tear to my eye. Church choir started again. I quit a few years ago for various reasons but now I am considering joining again. For all the years I was in choir I sat next to my friend Jan. She kept me on the right note, provided me with laughter and gave me courage that perhaps my voice wasn’t so bad after all.  And there was the fact of sharing an experience with one of my best friends. Jan left this world on December 31 of last year yet I still hear her voice when the choir sings and I still see her sitting in the midst of the choir. I am not sure I am ready to go back without Jan by my side.

It was a good summer. Thinking about my 50-year class reunion brought another few drops of moisture to my already dewy eyes. I loved seeing my classmates and remembering, but in those memories are those who did not live to see our 50-year celebration, especially my best friend, Karen. I thought of all we shared the giggly nights, the talks about boys and our hearts as we got older. She is my son’s Godmother. I still miss her, especially at reunion time.

You might think all this nostalgia is sad because of the tears. You would be wrong. Yes there is some sadness that life is not the same but yet in the nostalgia of our lives is the story of joy, sadness, and laughter. There is a transition in life which brings hope in the nostalgia that life continues on and each person helped shape today. Our memories contribute to that future and who we are as a person, which for me is that of wife, mother, grandmother, and friend.

All memories with each other weren’t perfect. Raising kids was tough trying to find the right balance between being the parent who spoils and who disciplines. There are the joys and regrets of not always being able to be close by to enjoy every single minute of the grandkids lives and at times there is the feeling we are no longer needed.  Watching Jan go through all she went through because of cancer was hard. And those high school friendships were sometimes rocky with a few spats along the way but always forgiveness and making up.

That is what nostalgia does. It puts the good and the rockiness together to make a life well lived and well-remembered, ours and our lives with those we love.

 Julie Seedorf’s column now appears Thursdays. Email her at hermionyvidaliabooks@gmail.com.