School picture day is a childhood rite of passage that forever captures who you are at that moment in time. For some—maybe if you’d just gotten your braces off or you had a particularly good haircut that year—you’re happy to have that memory frozen for all of eternity. For others, especially those who went through some “awkward years,” you probably wished that cameras had never been invented. For me, when I was very young, school picture day was my least favorite day of the year. That’s because picture day was the one of the few times in the year when I was forced to dress up.
My distaste for feminine formal attire, what I’ll call “dress duress,” has been documented in previous blogs. As a kid, getting dressed up was my worst nightmare. (Thankfully, I don’t mind it as much now.) But when I was younger, I fought my parent’s tooth and nail to avoid wearing fancy clothes. This brings me to an unlikely life lesson I learned, courtesy of school picture day: it’s important to stick to your principles and beliefs. But there are often ways to compromise that don’t involve compromising yourself. Particularly when it comes to relationships, you have to be willing to give a little. And so for the early years of my adolescence, giving a little (very little) was exactly what I did on school picture day.
Here’s my story…
Cut from a different cloth
I was, and still am, a tomboy. I recognize that tomboy may be an outdated term, but so be it. I was a girl who loved sports in an era before Title IX changed the athletic landscape. I preferred Legos to dolls. If I couldn’t play outside, my next best alternative was probably reading a book. Whatever I was doing, I wanted to be comfortable. That meant I sure has heck didn’t want to be wearing a dress.
For me, dresses symbolized the utmost levels of discomfort. First off all, you had to remember your manners. That meant keeping your legs crossed at the knee or ankle when seated. Absolutely no summersaults or cartwheels in a dress. Being active was nearly impossible while wearing a dress—at least for me.
What about a skirt, you may be wondering?
In my view, skirts were slightly better than dresses. At least with a skirt, your outfit was separated in half. You weren’t entombed from the neck down. But, for slender girls like me, there was always the threat of the skirt “skooch”—where your skirt somehow rides up several inches above your waist whenever you sat down.
Unless you’re careful, you may suddenly find yourself wearing a very mini skirt.
Bursting at the seams
I can trace my dress duress back to an incident that occurred when I was four. I recall that I urgently had to go to the bathroom during a religious holiday. For whatever reason, I had waited a few minutes too long before I went to the rest room. By then, I really had to go. As I did what I’ll refer to as “the pee pee dance,” I struggled to get my dress off in time. You see, it didn’t occur to me that I could’ve just lifted the dress. Yes, I thought you had to take the whole thing off.
From that moment on, I never wanted to wear a dress again. But sadly, that was only the beginning of my dress duress.
There were several key times during the year when I’d dread the thought of having to dress up. Religious holidays were a big one—attending religious services or family gatherings were dress duress triggers. Then there were formal occasions such as weddings; thankfully there were only a few of those. I’d add in dress duress for birthday parties, but only if it wasn’t too cold out. During the winter months, my mom was ok with a nice pair of “dress slacks.” And of course, I’d add dress duress to the first day of school and school picture day. Of all these events, school picture day was probably when my dress duress was the worst.
Our school pictures were displayed on the mantle for the entire year.
My mother, who I’m sure had her reasons, was adamantly opposed to letting me wear a casual outfit on school picture day. Maybe it was because my mom thought I should wear my “best clothes” for picture day. Or perhaps she felt I’d someday regret being immortalized wearing athleisure. (Surely, she had no idea how ubiquitous the fashion trend would become decades later.)
Whatever the rationale, my mother insisted that I wear a dress. Mind you, I was generally an easy-going child. But for a few rocky years, when it was school picture day, my bedroom closet became a battle zone.
There were tantrums, there was crying, and there were pointed threats. And those were just my mother’s reactions. (I’m just kidding!) Either way, my dress duress caused my mother to be at her wit’s end when we debated what I’d wear for picture day.
A turning point occurred in first grade when it was my school picture day. It was then that I learned the fine art of compromise: If you’re each willing to give in a little bit, there’s a way for everyone to get what they want. Sort of.
An ace up your sleeve
My mother and I each had diametrically opposed positions about what I should wear. She wanted me to wear a dress for picture day. I did not. On its face, there didn’t seem like there was much room for compromise. But finding a way to strike a balance between a grown up and a six-year-old was where the real genius lay.
As I’ve learned over the years, much of parenting involves negotiation.
My mother was too principled to offer me a bribe if I wore a dress. Instead, she proposed that I just had to wear the dress until the picture was taken. Then, I could change into whatever I wanted immediately after. She promised to write a note to my teacher as part of the bargain. This sounded like it could be a good option. But then I remembered how my teacher, Mrs. Cooper (may she rest in peace), said scheduling would be tight on picture day.
Mrs. Cooper had vaguely explained how picture day would work. The photographer would set up in the gym with a generic backdrop. He or she had a humongous flash that looked like an umbrella. For your class’s appointed time, you marched single file into the gym. You had roughly five seconds to glance in a mirror for a quick touch-up. Then, you were ushered in front of the camera and told to sit on a stool. Within the span of fifteen seconds, the camera would click several times, and you’d be left partially blinded by the flash. Barely having time to regain your vision, you’d be hustled out the gym’s side door onto whatever was next. It was a remarkably efficiency system.
But what if I didn’t have time to change? I thought. Then I’d be stuck wearing that dress for the whole day! No thank you. Not willing to take the chance, I turned down my mom’s offer.
Hearing my firm rejection, my mother appeared momentarily deflated. She hadn’t counted on how stubborn I could be. Obviously, a huge tactical error on her part.
Fits like a glove
There had to be some other option that could convince me to wear a dress. Only problem was, my mother couldn’t think of what it might be.
I’d like to give myself credit for coming up with the winning proposal. Even at age six, I was clever. My suggestion was that I wear my favorite T-shirt under the dress. That way, it would be faster for me to change once the picture was taken. Plus, in the worst-case scenario, if I were stuck wearing a dress all day, I’d still have my T-shirt on too. It was a solution my mom and I felt we could both live with.
And with that, a deal was struck.
On picture day, I put on my favorite Utah Jazz T-shirt. I then put on the dress we’d agreed that I’d wear: a white polyester dress that screamed “groovy!” So yeah, I looked stunning, particularly with the T-shirt underneath. Obviously, I’m being facetious. The dress was ugly. I looked ugly. With the added T-shirt layer, the dress was now a smidge tight. But my beleaguered mother didn’t want to rock the boat after the exhausting negotiations. A dress was a dress, and that’s what she’d wanted.
My mom also didn’t comment when she saw that I was wearing my scuffed Buster Brown shoes instead of my shiny patent leather dress flats. To her, the most important thing was that I was wearing a dress. On the outside.
“And a T-shirt on the inside,” little Steph would’ve surely pointed out.
The big picture
Did my picture come out beautifully? Was it worth the aggravation? Probably not. Did my mother force me to wear a dress for school pictures the next year? No, she did not. While I did have to “look nice,” a dress was no longer required on picture day.
I wish I could find a copy of the picture to share in this post. Unfortunately, the Steph Katzovi Museum has not yet begun construction and memorabilia is still being amassed. I hope you believe me when I tell you that if you look closely at my first-grade photo, you can actually see that I’m wearing a Utah Jazz T-shirt underneath the dress. Perhaps white wasn’t the best choice after all.
Still, the experience taught me a big lesson. It’s important to be true to yourself. But when it comes to relationships, you have to leave some room for compromise.
Though it certainly wasn’t the case at the time, the humor of that first-grade picture day fiasco was priceless. And honestly, I think it just might have been my best school picture ever.
Do you recall any childhood memories that had a strong impact on you later in life? Please share your stories with me in the comments section.
