My daughter’s school enforces a strict dress code which bans hats, make-up, and several styles of shoes. In spite of the ‘Soviet Youth’ aspect to it, I like the resultant ease in which my daughter gets dressed in the morning. There are very few questions; nothing to agonize over except whether to wear the khaki-colored skirt, the khaki-colored shorts or the khaki-colored jumper.
However, either in deference to national individualism or perhaps just to give parents a break from repeated launderings, the school allows a non-dress-code day once a month. And to further give the students a reason to break out and cheer, the non-dress-code days usually have a theme such as Whacky Hat Day, Pajama Day, or – as regards to today – Crazy Hair Day.
Planning has been in the works for months for Crazy Hair Day. Our stylish friend Clare (who regularly shows up for work at local venerable institution of higher learning with blue, green and purple splashes in her hair) has an ample selection of coloring materials, and she graciously gave me a sample of colors for my daughter.
Last night my daughter and I tried out the colors, and learned that the coloring is thick and slow to dry, but extremely bright and visible.
So this morning, we got ready to apply the colors all over her hair. However, things did not go as planned. Rada was extremely worried that she just didn’t look crazy enough and – even worse – that people just would not laugh at her.
I assured her that she looked absolutely outrageous and that everything would be fine, but she insisted on making numerous adjustments, adding several extra pony tails, more color on top, and at several point collapsed into sobs, worried that she just didn’t look right and that it just wasn’t CRAZY enough.
But finally we set out to school… she looking worried and tense.
When we got to the school yard, friends and teachers reacted with awe, amazement and glee, and Rada lit up as if she was an actress stepping into the limelight.
All her earlier grief of the morning had been akin to that of the moody star who throws fits and tantrums in her dressing room, only to finally emerge stunning and brilliant to the awe of her public.
And as lowly costume attendant, I was just glad to get her off to school in time.
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