Why I Don’t Wear Red


At the end of every school day, I drive to the school and pick up the twins. The school has a well-organized system for the exchange of children. We line up in two long rows in an overflow parking lot and when the kids are dismissed, they are herded out to us in the order that we are lined up. I would estimate that about half of the cars involved are grandparents. It’s nice that so many grandparents are willing and able to help out. Older people don’t like to be late so they begin to line up at least a half-hour before dismissal. I also like to get there early. My kids are so little and I hate for them to need to wait too long.  Also, it is a great opportunity to read. It’s a chunk of time when I can sit and read anything that I want without feeling guilty about “more important” things that I should be doing.  
On Friday, I was sitting in line, reading, and minding my own business.  I was near the front which doesn’t usually happen on a Friday.  There were a lot of kids playing in the field adjacent to the parking lot because we were experiencing a brief and beautiful moment of sunshine. I heard a girl shouting, “Hey, Santa! It’s Santa Clause. Over here Santa.”  Another girl said, “ stop shouting, that’s somebody’s parent… or grandparent.” I looked up and realized they were addressing me.  And that is why I hate to wear red shirts.  

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