Throw Rocks

I saw from my peripheral the bright colors spelling out something on the grey shirt in the children’s department of the store. I glanced over and it said something about winning. I strode on but something about the word winning on a child’s shirt bothered me. I stopped turned around and went back. There, in bold neon letters, on a shirt for girls between the size of 6 and 12 were the following words “Winning looks great on me”. WHAT??!!?

A shirt for a small child, boasting, as it creates a feeling of competition where one would not exist without the bold statement in an environment that is supposed to be nurturing, educational, unbiased, and fair. This is a shirt that is going to create feelings of entitlement, inferiority, and loss. This shirt offends me in so many ways. I would have such an overwhelming negative reaction to a child wearing such a shirt. If it came down to a situation where there were two children that needed to be saved but I could only save one. I would save the one NOT wearing the shirt because the one wearing the shirt has obviously already won something and they feel they look great. 

However, one of my daughters did have a shirt in Jr. High that said “Boys are stupid, throw rocks at them”.

We all loved this shirt and we thought it was funny, for several reasons, collectively and individually. The first day my daughter wore this shirt to school she was sent to the principal’s office and I was called. They wanted to know if I was aware she was wearing such a violent shirt. Considering it was, in part male violence that made this shirt so funny to us I said yes. We do not condone violence here Mrs. Viceroy said the indignant voice on the other end. That is Ms. Pearis and I believe her shirt says neither does she, I politely replied. There was a loud swift intake of breath on the other end of the phone.

I was beginning to believe she did not like my daughter’s shirt. You have to come and get her now and take her home to change. That is not going to happen I tell her. I am out of the area with a client and by the time I can get to your school she will already be home. She has to change the shirt the woman says. I giggle, OK. This is not a humorous matter MS Pearis! I giggle again; yes in the larger scheme of things this is humorous. Well! We will have her turn the shirt inside and out wear it that way the rest of the day she determines. I would like you to put my daughter on the phone now. My daughter has heard some of this conversation. I ask her if the principle is listening. Yes, she says. I explain that she will have to wear her shirt inside out the rest of the day because I cannot get there to pick her up so she can change. I am NOT changing shirts, my daughter screams, as I knew she would. No honey you are not, but apparently the parents of the stupid boys do not like your shirt. I can hear the principle, MS Pearis! My daughter laughs at this point as I knew she would. I will put on my hoogie mom and zip it up, my daughter concedes.

Excellent!  Put the principle back on.  Is there anything else I can help you with, I ask her. As she starts to speak in her lecturing tone I interrupt her to say I am with a client I have kept waiting long enough and it was lovely chatting. I ring off.

I was asked in the 7^th grade to not wear a pair of cracker jack

inspired navy blue bell bottom pants because the principle decided they were jeans. They were not made of denim I pointed out.

He then turned on me with such vehemence in his voice I was shocked and my mouth fell open. I had never had a male creature speak to me like that, in that tone, at that volume. I was sure he was demented and instead of quaking in fear, I felt sorry for him, assuming he was handicapped in some way. I felt certain he was unclear about the pants so I again said that they were not made from denim that they were broadcloth. QUIET he yelled. Poor man I remember thinking. Maybe he had forgotten to take his

medication; the way my mother explained my brother’s behavior when he behaved badly. I smiled at him and chirped out “sure!”  Shook my head and walked away. This incident was the first bad male incident I had and one reason the “boys are stupid throw rocks at them shirt” was funny to me. My mother was not happy about the pants either they had been expensive.

Good times…..