Jackson’s school had Fifties Day a few weeks ago. I still don’t know why. We had Fifties Day when I was a kid because of American Graffiti and we were all addicted to “Happy Days,” plus all these girls’ moms had kept their poodle skirts. It sort of made sense. It made sense going back twenty years because it was like dressing up as your parents. But doing it now is just making your kids dress up like their estranged grandparents in Bakersfield whose house burned down in an oxygen tank fire. I wouldn’t exactly call it a history lesson.
Anyway, I couldn’t bear to send Jackson to school in a white t-shirt and jeans with his hair slicked back like the Fonz. THE FONZ, FOR GOD’S SAKE.
So he let me turn him into a beatnik.
He said all the squares made fun of his beret.