Integration

So I don't buy a lot of things. Like clothes. However, I spent $17 on this originally ridiculously overpriced-two-thirds off-military green blazer-type jacket. It is now the "Mr. Hill" blazer. Sam occasionally looks at it with contempt. Not unlike Clark Kent, I have this thing that turns me into something else. Not that I'm Superman, exactly. But something else, nonetheless. When I tried on the blazer in the store, it didn't seem too constrictive. The shoulders were a little tight, but overall, it was pretty comfortable. It definitely fit the image I was going for. Not the black hooded sweatshirt that I prefer, and that plenty of the adolescent bastards also prefer. Not the casual comfort of comaradeship. Instead, the slightly, but not overly-formal look, the authority of a khaki green blazer. The brown loafers, not the blue sneakers. The canvas bag, not the red backpack (which was stolen, and thus wasn't an option). I'm not always this image-conscious. For a long period of time, I pretended that my style was "No Style" which is debatable. It seems next to impossible for us thinking humans to be entirely image unconscious, though my brother comes pretty close. Even if we don't put time into our style, we are aware that we are or aren't wearing what is trendy, popular, or untrendry and unpopular.

So...Mr. Hill and his beard. His brown shoes. His khaki blazer. His authority. He threatens Sam. It was bound to happen. A forced integration, embrace of adulthood, embrace of responsibility, of baggy eyes instead of baggy jeans. Sam is gradually accepting this fact of life. Still, that damn jacket gets uncomfortably warm when the decibel level in the room goes up too high. Mr. Hill is trying to learn how to provide order and not chaos. How to manage thirty-four 16 year-olds, without overheating on a daily basis. Maybe soon, Mr. Hill will attempt to work without the constricting shoulder. Perhaps integration will get easier day by day.