Hats

My granddaughter told me that wearing a hat at high school is only an optional part of her uniform. She said it as if it was good news and from her perspective, I suppose it was. As Dezzy sees it, hats are just not stylish. There’s the straw hat, the floppy cloth hat, the cap and (shudder) the visor. Dezzy has developed into a young lady with a sense of self and of fashion. She believes that hats are just not cool. And feeling immortal as we all do at that age, I’m guessing that she brushes aside talks about skin cancer.

It seems like minutes ago when a five year old Dezzy posed proudly in her school uniform and broad brimmed hat with a draw string that kept it in place. She wore that hat in its various sizes all through primary school. Her family provided her with the out of hours hats. She never questioned our authority, but accepted that it was all part of a grownup’s rules that had to be followed. These days Dezzy keeps a floppy hat in her bag, folded up and ready, just in case I should insist she wear it. It’s a pity hat. I still have some influence but it is obviously waning fast.

If I look back far enough into my past (back to Fred Flintstone’s day, my sons used to say), I can empathise with Dezzy. Our uniform skirts were one inch below the knee but the moment we left at the end of the school day we untucked our shirts and rolled up our sleeves and rolled our skirts up at the waist. Hats were not mandatory, so of course we didn't wear them, but we didn’t know as much about sun damage in the Stone Age.
Perhaps if Dezzy had experienced the ‘Slip, Slap, Slop,’ campaign, initiated by the Cancer Council, and the jingle that went: ‘slip on a shirt, slop on the sunscreen, slap on a hat.’ That was almost two generations ago. I found it effective but I was an adult at the time. Giving lectures and pointing out the grisly details and consequences of ignoring us, even catchy jingles will only have a limited effect on people Dezzy’s age. What she and her friends need is an alternative option.

I recently followed Dezzy around our local shopping centre while she spent her birthday money on clothes. Dezzy went right past the handful of straw hats that were artistically placed here and there around the shop. No one was buying them, no one was wearing them. Even I thought that they were dull.

There was a time when wearing a hat was de rigueur. Like the American Express card, no one dreamt of leaving home without a hat. Ironically now that we know we should be wearing them, we don’t. Time for milliners to give the issue some serious thought and plug into what is essentially an untapped market. Hats for young teens could be cool if they played it right. Those fascinators look lovely on Melbourne Cup Day, why not extend that metaphor. A bit of ingenuity and imagination and a get together between manufacturers, models and actresses could turn the tide and widen the brim.

Role Models

Not so long ago, my grown up son told his grandmother that she was his role model. At one time or another Mark had given one family member or another that look of admiration that spoke volumes about things said or done that had amazed him. It was gran’s turn to bask in the glow of his love. She was chuffed, but all she did in her understated way was to give him her gentle smile and say, ‘that’s nice, darling.’

Both she and my dad, who is no longer with us, lent Mark an independent ear when he felt the need for one; gave him sanctuary when he was running away from his troubles and told Mark that they had faith in his abilities. While his grandparents gave him uncritical love and unquestioning support, they hadn’t actually known they were being role models. It would have made them nervous if they had realised such a huge responsibility had been placed on their shoulders. Mark’s grandparents saw themselves as family centred people who did what came naturally. That meant offering their services where it was needed, willingly, quietly and without the razzmatazz expected of role models these days. They would have left that issue to be fought over by footballers, singers and film stars.

A friend I was speaking to about it would have agreed with that assessment. She believes that family members can’t attain hero status in their own lifetime. We need to admire the prowess of today’s sports people, (or is it sports people who have the need for us to admire them?), and we need to take on the rose coloured patina that covers the legendary folk of the past. The stories of these larger than life people, she said, symbolised such attributes as courage, individuality and selflessness, qualities that we would wish our children to aspire to. If history debunks these people’s stories that’s still all right with my friend. They will be adults by the time they find their idols have feet of clay. She dismisses the thought of sports heroes disgracing themselves. It’s only a few that spoil it all for everybody. The important thing is children need heroes now and family members just can’t compete.

I thought that she missed the point. Mark’s parents had been his first port of call. They were his first teachers, disciplinarians and friends. If he was going to learn about selflessness and courage it would be from his parents and the aunties, uncles and the grandparents who expanded his little world. His family are a constant in his life. At any given time of day or night, Mark knows he can count on his them to be there for him. There will not be any radical changes in their behaviour, nor will they disgrace themselves and let him down. Rather, Mark’s family provide him with enduring lessons about life, love and family. Lessons he has taken with him into adulthood.

Mark is free to admire people for their skills while not confusing them with the personal attributes, ambitions or flaws of strangers. He is a stronger adult for it, sure of himself and his place in the world and he and understands that neither footballers nor film stars know or care anything about him, and, despite constant media scrutiny into their personal lives, he does not know or need to know about them.