By Denise W., February 11, 2021 — I’m in a group called Toastmasters. In Toastmasters just last night, my role was to be a Grammarian. So, as a Grammarian, one thing you do is you pick out a word. You define a word, and then the speakers try to incorporate the word in a conversation. Last night, I chose the word “ostentatious,” which means “attracting or seeking to attract attention, admiration, or envy by gaudiness or obviousness; overly elaborate, et cetera.”
So it’s ironic that that was the word because the assignment I thought was talking about clothing and so I wrote when I was a little girl, I attended a local Catholic School. Uniforms were required. On Sundays, Mom and I were members of the church to celebrated mass and holy days of obligation. My grandparents however joined the local Baptist church. Clothing on a Sunday was a planned event in which only our finest clothes would be appropriate. My nana was dressed up with a big beautiful hat, gloves, matching outfit that included matching heels, a pocketbook, and a mink around her shoulders. Grandpop looked debonair in a tailored suit and fancy hat. Mom boasted that we were the best-dressed family in the neighborhood. That didn’t mean much to me but this was my family.
A boutique that sold one-of-a-kind fancy clothes for children was nearby. I was the only girl, the oldest grandchild, so needless to say I had many fancy, frilly dresses with crinoline slips, matching patent leather shoes, gloves, hats corresponding to the handbag, et cetera. Dressing well was a top priority for our family. Favorable appearances and impressions meant everything at the time. I can picture orange high heels in my mother’s shoe closet. Mom enjoyed dancing in the Cotton Club of Harlem, so she had to look the part. It was time for a dress. We went to John Wanamaker’s to purchase her attire, which then was pretty good. However, my personality while playing as a rambunctious daughter: I did not look very presentable at the end of the day, as my hair ribbons were torn, clothes wrinkled, and shoes were scuffed out. My tomboyish behavior was embarrassing for my mom. She would summarize me to come into the house, change into clothes and shoes et cetera, just consumed with the question, “What are the family, church people, neighborhood thinking about us?” So for me, that was pretty hard that I was her daughter because she was trying to be so pristine and always worrying about what people thought, and I didn’t. I could care less. I just wanted to have fun, and I did.
Now, even to her death when she was very well dressed. I found I went to Lord and Taylor and they had very beautiful couture dress, I forgot the designer. It was light but light blue was her favorite color, and I purchased the dress. I took it to my mother, and she did wear it. We didn’t talk about it, but I knew even at death when she was laid out in the casket, she had on that beautiful dress, that couture, and we had a fancy hat on her, and because to her how you looked meant a lot, to me I learned that it doesn’t.
I guess that I was just a little of a misfit of a daughter for her because even as I got, even when I was in my forties I would go to church with her, and by that time, she converted to the Baptist religion, and she said, “Is this what you’re going to wear?” and I said, “Yeah.” She said, “Go to my closet and see what else you can find,” because we were about the same size, but she didn’t approve. Even to the day, I like clothes. I either dress very good or casual. I have very little in-between. But clothes are certainly not a priority for me and they never will be. So “ostentatious” was definitely an adjective that describes the way my family saw clothing and impressions.