| GREG-STRANGE.COM |
"If you haven't found something strange during the
day, it hasn't been much of a day." -- John A. Wheeler
day, it hasn't been much of a day." -- John A. Wheeler
PROVIDING SUBSTANTIVE COMMENTARY ON THE
PEOPLE, POLITICS, EVENTS AND ABSURDITIES OF
OUR TIME. SERVED UP WITH ACERBIC WIT, YOU
SHOULD FIND IT QUITE SATISFYING.
PEOPLE, POLITICS, EVENTS AND ABSURDITIES OF
OUR TIME. SERVED UP WITH ACERBIC WIT, YOU
SHOULD FIND IT QUITE SATISFYING.
Still Fighting The Power After All These Years
My local school system's new Dress For Success program just
keeps making the news. Seems a lot of folks have a problem
with the fact that it limits what kids are allowed to wear to
school. You would expect a lot of bellyaching from the kids
since they aren't mature enough to know any better, but what's
up with some of these parents?
For instance, what kind of parents would stand outside the
school board building on the side of a busy street with their
children protesting a school dress code, the intent of which is
to provide some semblance of an orderly and dignified
environment in which serious learning can take place?
I mean, you would think that parents would be more concerned
with their children's actual education than their children's
"right" to go to school dressed like a gangster, a bedraggled
hobo or a street-walker-in-training. What gives?
The only explanation I can think of for such cockeyed
prioritizing is a certain value system overburdened with
rebellious nonsense that was internalized by millions of baby
boomers in the 60's and 70's who have since become parents.
Still carrying this stuff around with them like so much dead
weight, primary features of that value system include such sage
admonitions as "if it feels good, do it" and "resist all authority."
I'm a boomer too, by the way. When I was in school I fought
dress codes with a zealotry usually reserved for Samurai
warriors. In fact, if I had wanted to come to school actually
dressed like a Samurai warrior, I would have thought that was
totally cool, it was my constitutional right and anyone who
tried to stop me was a right-wing fascist agent of the
military-industrial complex.
All I wanted was to celebrate my glorious individuality, or,
as they say nowadays, my "diversity." The truth is, I was a
thoughtless little snot who didn't know my nostril from a hole
in the ground.
It was all about me. Me, me, me, all day long, 365 days a
year, and the rest of the world, including my parents, teachers
and anybody else, be damned. There was nothing wrong, as far
as I was concerned, with wearing sloppy and tattered clothing
that would have embarrassed most skid row winos. And I
certainly had no problem with the girls wearing
micro-miniskirts, a daring fashion statement which made
something as mundane as bending over to pick up a pencil a
bawdy adventure.
But a funny thing happened to me over the years. I went
through an arduous process, apparently unknown to many of
my boomer brethren, that is sometimes referred to as "growing
up." It's a process I highly recommend to those who have yet to
partake.
Like the person who held up this sign at the big protest
outside the school board building: "Judge my children by the
content of their character." Can you believe that an actual
adult lifted this line from something as noble as the civil rights
movement and used it for something as trivial as her childish
disdain for a school dress code?
Judging from most of the signs at the big protest rally, one
might have mistaken the whole thing for a convention of
insipid platitude writers. Here's a sampling: "Uniforms kill
diversity;" "America is NOT a land of UNIFORMity;" and
"Honor diversity, support responsible choice." Let's face it. As
important social causes go, this one ranks somewhere just
below Mothers Against Reckless Rollerblading.
If you're a parent and you don't care if your children look
like something the cat dragged in, or worse, then fine. But why
does it have to be at school? Can't they be little bohemians and
rebels on their own time instead of at school where their
appearance and behavior have an unavoidable effect on a
captive audience?
With the 60's long since over, you just have to shake your
head in wonder at those middle-aged people who are still
fighting such nonsensically counterproductive battles, and
through their children, no less.
My local school system's new Dress For Success program just
keeps making the news. Seems a lot of folks have a problem
with the fact that it limits what kids are allowed to wear to
school. You would expect a lot of bellyaching from the kids
since they aren't mature enough to know any better, but what's
up with some of these parents?
For instance, what kind of parents would stand outside the
school board building on the side of a busy street with their
children protesting a school dress code, the intent of which is
to provide some semblance of an orderly and dignified
environment in which serious learning can take place?
I mean, you would think that parents would be more concerned
with their children's actual education than their children's
"right" to go to school dressed like a gangster, a bedraggled
hobo or a street-walker-in-training. What gives?
The only explanation I can think of for such cockeyed
prioritizing is a certain value system overburdened with
rebellious nonsense that was internalized by millions of baby
boomers in the 60's and 70's who have since become parents.
Still carrying this stuff around with them like so much dead
weight, primary features of that value system include such sage
admonitions as "if it feels good, do it" and "resist all authority."
I'm a boomer too, by the way. When I was in school I fought
dress codes with a zealotry usually reserved for Samurai
warriors. In fact, if I had wanted to come to school actually
dressed like a Samurai warrior, I would have thought that was
totally cool, it was my constitutional right and anyone who
tried to stop me was a right-wing fascist agent of the
military-industrial complex.
All I wanted was to celebrate my glorious individuality, or,
as they say nowadays, my "diversity." The truth is, I was a
thoughtless little snot who didn't know my nostril from a hole
in the ground.
It was all about me. Me, me, me, all day long, 365 days a
year, and the rest of the world, including my parents, teachers
and anybody else, be damned. There was nothing wrong, as far
as I was concerned, with wearing sloppy and tattered clothing
that would have embarrassed most skid row winos. And I
certainly had no problem with the girls wearing
micro-miniskirts, a daring fashion statement which made
something as mundane as bending over to pick up a pencil a
bawdy adventure.
But a funny thing happened to me over the years. I went
through an arduous process, apparently unknown to many of
my boomer brethren, that is sometimes referred to as "growing
up." It's a process I highly recommend to those who have yet to
partake.
Like the person who held up this sign at the big protest
outside the school board building: "Judge my children by the
content of their character." Can you believe that an actual
adult lifted this line from something as noble as the civil rights
movement and used it for something as trivial as her childish
disdain for a school dress code?
Judging from most of the signs at the big protest rally, one
might have mistaken the whole thing for a convention of
insipid platitude writers. Here's a sampling: "Uniforms kill
diversity;" "America is NOT a land of UNIFORMity;" and
"Honor diversity, support responsible choice." Let's face it. As
important social causes go, this one ranks somewhere just
below Mothers Against Reckless Rollerblading.
If you're a parent and you don't care if your children look
like something the cat dragged in, or worse, then fine. But why
does it have to be at school? Can't they be little bohemians and
rebels on their own time instead of at school where their
appearance and behavior have an unavoidable effect on a
captive audience?
With the 60's long since over, you just have to shake your
head in wonder at those middle-aged people who are still
fighting such nonsensically counterproductive battles, and
through their children, no less.