1979 – Damn the Yellow

The setting was 1979 rural Iowa in the heart of a cold Midwest winter. I was twelve years old, a 7th Grader at Remsen St. Mary's grade school. Our family lived an idyllic 70s life in small-town America. Dad was our town barber. Mom was a homemaker, tending to every need of my family. Although a master of all household duties, her proudest role was that of our chief seamstress.

Mom planned, designed, and sewed our childhood wardrobe. Every shirt, pant, and dress was handmade by Mom. Her attention to detail was impeccable, filling my childhood memories with hours in fabric stores as Mom would carefully choose materials for the upcoming season.

Not only were my brothers and I well-dressed kids, but Mom’s talent also resulted in my having the BEST Barbie doll clothes. To my friends’ envy, my Ken doll had ‘whitie tightie’ underwear with a real fly, carefully constructed and sewn by my mom. My Barbie had a wardrobe that Marsha Brady would envy. Although I hadn’t a clue that not every mother made all their children's clothing, I was fully aware that I had the best Barbie wardrobe.

Mom’s talents and creative eye went beyond fabric. She was also talented in art, woodworking, and interior decorating. Throughout my childhood, Mom did side jobs for our local interior design store. She would upholster furniture and make custom curtains for them with impeccable taste and an eye for design. She stripped the traditional stain from our upright piano and painted it baby blue. Our entire house had bright green carpet. Mom was trendy and edgy before those words were cliche. Our house was the only one in town with a bright yellow back door. Mom thought the color added character.

Our homemade clothes didn’t appear different from our friends’ store-bought wardrobes, just of better quality. But there were some limitations that led Mom to purchase some of our clothing. Winter coats necessary for the frigid Iowa winters fell in this category.

When clothing needed to be purchased, Mom would often make the trip to our neighboring town, LeMars. Her favorite store was Tots & Teens. Mom would shop the racks of this clothing store for sales. Coming home with bags of store-bought clothes was a special treat. We knew that every piece of packaged clothing was both hand-picked and paid for by Mom.

In the dead of that 1979 winter, my mom decided I had outgrown my winter coat. As the season was well underway, she drove to Tots & Teens on the prowl for a coat in my size and on sale. Arriving home and obviously pleased, Mom displayed for me an oversized bag and a big smile. She had found the perfect coat for me.

Out of the bag came the big reveal.

A bright yellow knee-length coat. It was a big puffy hooded canary monstrosity with a thin candy-stripe trim around the waist. Other than the stripe, the entire coat (yes, the ENTIRE coat) was bright canary yellow.

My gut reaction: ‘This isn’t good’.

Mom felt otherwise.

Mom: “A beautiful coat and a great find that will fit you through the next winter too!”

Me: <internal pre-pubescent panic> “Ummm…you really think for two years?”

Although internally disappointed, I didn’t want to hurt my mom’s feelings and I didn’t want to appear ungrateful. Mom was over the moon about her great purchase. I hesitantly accepted my new coat, somberly knowing it would have its grand reveal soon.

The next day I put on my new coat and walked to school. Through the hustle and bustle of my grade school hallway, there were no compliments or comments on my coat from classmates. I did get some funny looks and knew that wasn’t a good sign. I quickly stuffed the coat (with quite a bit of effort) into my locker.

Lunchtime arrived. It was time to parade around in my new coat again. School lunches were served at our high school which required a five-block walk outside. A walk of shame. Entering high school in my flamboyant coat, I received my first brutal feedback.

“Hey, look, it’s Big Bird!!!” a boy yelled.

The tall chubby boy, a grade older than me, laughed with his red face turning redder in his enjoyment of my embarrassment. The 8th graders in line with him joined in his laughter. I was mortified. There I stood in my new yellow coat knowing they were right. I looked exactly like Big Bird. In the year of the parkas, I was not wearing a parka. Every other kid in the lunchroom had a parka in navy, black, or maroon. And there I was, a canary among mice.

Ignoring them and surrounding myself with friends, I tried to blend in while the chubby boy kept pointing and laughing. I got through lunch, never responding to the taunts. This was my first experience of pure humiliation.

For the next few weeks, the same 8th-grade boy would taunt me with Big Bird comments. And I would follow my same routine of continued coat-wearing while ignoring his jabs. My mom’s feelings trumped his idiotic taunting. I wore my yellow coat, was heckled at lunch, ignored my adversaries, and repeated daily.

I think they finally tired of my lack of emotion. Bullying is no fun with no response. Eventually, I stopped hearing the Big Bird comments and my coat became old news and nothing extraordinary.

My blessing in disguise was that a yellow coat showed dirt easily. It was filthy by the end of winter. My mom deemed it ruined. Although a sad day for Mom, it was a happy day for me. Big Bird would not be flying back for the next winter. Instead, I was the proud recipient of a hand-me-down parka. It was magnificent navy blue.

(1979 Summary – I am SO glad I chose my mother’s feelings over bowing down to a bully. At 12 years old, I didn’t understand bullying, nor did I know that how I reacted was the exact way to react – no reaction! A great life lesson. I also had no idea that the experience would actually have me gravitating toward yellow for the rest of my life.)

2011 – You Really Like Me!

I had a childhood flashback when at work in 2011. I was living the full-throttle corporate life when one of my male co-workers complimented me on my new bright yellow sweater.

"Hey...great sweater. Love the yellow on you!"

‘Love the yellow’ ...wow...something was triggered.

I had just purchased my new sweater on a Super Target run (along with dish soap, Valentine's Day cards for my 11-year-old, and milk). Based on the colors of the various displayed sweaters, this was obviously an ‘in’ color for spring. Yellow. Bright yellow. Why not?

Adorning my sunshine look with flashbacks of my childhood taunting, I blushed in happiness when given the unexpected compliment. It was nice to know that I did, in fact, look good in yellow.

(2011 Summary – In my 40s I thought my Big Bird validation was when I was accepted in yellow. I was excited to get a compliment. I wrote this childhood story in an original blog post in 2011; an affirmation of feeling redeemed and embracing my childhood Big Bird story.)

2023 – Big Bird Gives Not a Shit

I am now in my 50s. I now know that there is no better gift than homemade wear from my mom. No longer am I running to the store for last-minute school supplies or unstocked frig staples. Instead, I now spend my time curating family memories with my mom going through old family photos and 8mm film footage. I also live in a non-corporate work lifestyle that bodes well with puffy jackets.

My Big Bird flashback hit again this year. It was a dual punch with 1) my purchase of a super bright yellow puffy coat (with an uncanny similar stripe and resemblance to my childhood counterpart) and 2) my unearthing of the only known photo of my puffy yellow childhood coat.

The coat purchase came first. I saw it online and had to buy it. My husband teasingly commented that I looked like Big Bird.

My response: “Perfect! Exactly the look I wanted.”

Then we rolled into summer with my purchase of a new gadget that took my family’s old 8mm film and digitized them. On a hot summer day at my parents’ home in Kingman, Arizona, I watched some of the last footage through a tiny peek hole on the convertor. To my amazement, there was a two-second clip of me and my cousin, Kelly, with me wearing the famous yellow coat! AND I was smiling. Bringing up the video to full screen, there wasn’t a bit of shame with my 12-year-old presence. I was happy to validate my memory with the reality caught on film (Good job, 12-year-old, Sandy!!).

Now in my 50s, I can honestly say I don’t give one iota (shit) how others think I look in yellow. It was very nice of my co-worker to give me the compliment in 2011 and not very nice of the chubby red-faced boy to make fun of me in 1979. But it is now 2023 and I FEEL spectacular in my yellow coat.

And that, my friends, is the only opinion that matters.

A quote on a meme I recently saw and with which I completely agree (other than the fact that you shouldn’t wait until turning 50)…

“The only thing you should stop wearing after 50 is the weight of other people’s opinions.”

(2023 Summary – I am proud of my childhood response to the Big Bird bully, but I am equally happy to embrace my ongoing joy of going bold on color choices. Life is too short to live it bland. I really do feel great in yellow! And I have my mom to thank for these great life lessons.)