Tag Day

For me, entry into Jr. High School was something to worry about every day of the summer. Unfamiliar hallways to navigate, teachers more than one, a locker to unlock, a lunchroom seat to find, and boys. Most of all, boys. I worried about boys.

It seemed biology had brought them to my attention, self-examination making them something to fear. I went about my summer days with a knot in my stomach that just would not unravel. My mother asked me to accompany her to a friend's home, a surprise, she promised, would await me there. (Pixie tutorial, here.)

Mrs. Ritchie was a seamstress without a girl to sew for as she only had sons; four teenaged sons. My mother had commissioned Mrs. Ritchie to sew a school wardrobe for me that would account for my natural modesty but let me fit in with other students. To this place filled with boys, my mother would bring me nearly every other day.

Fabrics to choose on tabletops filled with laundry. Socks and underwear and more socks and more underwear.  Every inch of Mrs. Ritchie's home was filled with the belongings of her sons. Interruptions abounded by blue jean clad legs and torsos in white tees. The boys took to lingering and asking me a question or two.

By the end of the summer, my wardrobe complete, I was able to greet the boys by name and be led away to toss a football in the yard.  Tall and lanky, white grins in tanned faces, the boys were always so kind. Shy laughter found a way to escape from me, I wanted my time at Mrs. Ritchie's to never end.

My first days of Jr. High School were a blur of old friends found and new friends made. Compliments filled me with pride, a new dress for every day of the week.  A ticket bought for Tag Day, a special boy chosen to carry books and sit next to at lunch. (Pattern and Tutorial found here.)

Summer days begun with such uncertainty, a mother knowing just what to do. Practice boys all summer long, one to call my own on Tag Day in school. 

Please do not Pin pattern on Pinterest.