I took my daughter shopping yesterday to help outfit her for her first job in the real world, which begins in a few weeks. "And so begins the closet of boring," she remarked as we gathered together the tailored pieces in varying shades of dull gray.
The transformation was remarkable. The giggling little girl who walked into the store with me suddenly looked serious, like someone from whom even the best and brightest would seek advice. This could not possibly be the kid who, moments earlier, was rolling on the floor laughing as we spoke to each other in cartoonish voices and warped language; this could not possibly be the kid who was just wearing baggy gym clothes and and impulsively ordering tickets for us to attend a hokey country music concert.
Then I glanced at her toes. Yes, she was most assuredly still the child I adore, the girl who helps to keep me laughing when life doesn't seem all that funny. Her newly polished red toenails gleamed, reminding me of the pedicures we had just enjoyed (I went with bright blue), not to mention the plates full of tamales for lunch at a local Mexican joint. We had also tossed in a visit to the drug store, where we purchased six bottles of whimsically colored nail polish, just in case we find ourselves bored with our fingertips before the next trip to the salon.
Yes, her closet may be about to acquire a growing section of gray -- a sharp and, at first glance, disturbing contrast to the bright tones of her conventional wardrobe. The playful pigments and styles she prefers may indeed be squeezed into a smaller space, but they will always be there, lively reminders of who she really is and will continue to be.
The unforgiving waistbands of structured skirts may occasionally curtail her enjoyment of a plateful of lunchtime tamales, but I would venture to say there isn't a gray suit out there that will ever rein in her free spirit. As tailored as she might appear, in my mind she will always be the laughing girl with the bright red toes.
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