Sporting camo at the football game.
Today's Photo Friday is in honor of our 10-year high school reunion, which we'll be celebrating this weekend. I spent a good amount of time looking through pictures from high school--graduation, homecomings, proms, and halftime shows. But, I have to say, one of the things I remember most were the camo pants.
During football season at Roswell High School, each class had a color for spirit-wear. Freshmen wore white (boring...), sophomores wore gray, juniors green, and seniors--black and army camouflage. I remember shopping at the army store near the Big Chicken in Marietta (if you don't know what that is, it only means that you haven't lived in the metro-Atlanta area) and relishing the immense sense of freedom embodied in those pants. For one reason, the pants were sized by waist and length, which meant they would fit my shorter height without a homemade hem, and the legs were loose and covered in deep pockets. Then (and even more-so now), you couldn't fit much more than a twenty-dollar bill folded twice into a pocket of women's jeans. I, on the other hand, could fit pencils, my flip chart with stand music, and my piccolo case into the pockets of my camo pants.
That meant a lot to me then. Really, it did.
The pants also meant that I had attained a long-awaited right-of-passage. They meant I had power. I was not an outspoken child and I generally didn't like to draw attention to myself, especially in large groups of people. But in those pants, I felt empowered. On one of the first Fridays of football season, I stood in the a la carte
(read: chicken tenders and chocolate chip cookies) lunch line with a friend when a strutting sophomore decided to cut in halfway up the line. In what I can only describe as an out-of-body experience, I broke off from my conversation and turned to challenge him.
Cheering on the Roswell Hornets with future camo-wearing cousins.
"Excuse me. The line ends back there."
The Strutting Sophomore turned to me, chest puffed slightly out, to shoot me his best, "I don't care" look. Instead, he took a long look at the pants, muttered "Sorry," and walked to the back.
At least, that's how I remember it.
This year, these two young men are walking the halls of Roswell High School as seniors. I hope they enjoy their pants.