Of Pride and Prejudice

First impressions make a large impact on how we think of someone, even before we say hello. Based on that first glance, we may not even wish to introduce ourselves. We're all aware of this glaring fact, though we're not so quick to say that we ourselves judge others. Denial is a beautiful thing.

I've always been careful about what clothing I've allowed Micah to wear in public. Those first impressions of a child with an obvious disability, coupled with hand-me-down clothing, screams a message that I don't want others to think of my son. I want Micah's first impression in the world he ventures into to be something other than pity or contempt. For that reason, I've been careful to cultivate Micah's look to be one of a child that is much loved. It's obvious that his parents care for him, and take great pride in him, even at first glance.

But Micah has been undermining my intentions. This is the year that he has decided what is and is not acceptable to wear. This year, jeans are not acceptable. The Kid In Sweatpants is now my kid. I spent a small fortune on straight-leg sweats, sweats with racy stripes down the sides, sweats with cargo pockets, sweats that I made with sporty numbers stitched onto the leg. Sweats that would look like a polished outfit when coupled with tops, and not like the kid was wearing his pajama pants to school.

This is the year that Micah has decided what is and is not acceptable to wear. He wants shirts that are screen printed with super heroes and cartoon characters, tie-dyed tees, and stained hand-me-downs from his brother. We pick and choose what goes into his dresser so that no matter the choices, he generally looks like a kid that has a caring family.

This morning Micah insisted on wearing a pair of sweats that he had outgrown. We kept them anyway because they make awesome pajama bottoms. We call them his manpris. He paired these with a short sleeved tee, and although he matched, and although it's a balmy 35 degrees, I think long sleeves would better suit him at school where the temperatures are cooler than they are in our home.

Clearly, Micah was one of those kids today. The one in obvious hand-me-downs, with ill-fitted clothing, with a family that doesn't care what he looks like. And it makes his disability so much more evident. It draws pitying stares, or dismissive glances. But there's a fine line here and I'm not sure where it lies. On one side is my pride. It's that simple, but it's large. On the other side is Micah's pride. That is large, too. I want him to be proud of the fact that he can dress himself, and happy when he looks in the mirror.

This morning I made Micah change into jeans and a long sleeved shirt. He was not happy, but he complied. This morning I think I may have made the wrong decision. He may have gotten chilly at school, but otherwise his outfit wasn't a safety issue. I have allowed others to influence how I parent. I have chosen to allow what others think of Micah to take preference over what Micah wants. There are times and places to fight over clothing, but daily to school doesn't need to be one of them.

In the future, if you see my son walking down the street in his faded manpris and his brother's cast-off shirt, know that my pride has bowed that day to allow my child to make his own choices. I will be the one walking tall behind him, in a matching, season-appropriate outfit, smiling with love at my son who has made his own choices in life.