Style Watch

My son Jackson has style. That may seem a strange thing to say about a five year old, but it is true. Lots of people have enough money to buy things that look good. Give me enough moolah and I can find a shirt and pants that match. Some people look good in whatever they wear because they are pretty or handsome. Style is something else.

Every time Jackson emerges from his room he seems to be wearing a different outfit. And not one most people would put together. Jackson is a fan of wearing socks that are so long they come up to his thighs. Like something out of an Errol Flynn epic. He matches hats to shoes and wears belts with shorts. Lately, he is growing out his hair. He is five! I never made a suggestion about my hair until eighth grade, when I asked the lady giving me a cut if she could make it look like Don Johnson. (This was the height of Miami Vice. Eventually I owned an outfit that consisted of boat shoes with no socks, teal pants tight-rolled at the bottom, a pink shirt, teal tie slung low, and a faux white linen jacket. My friend Jamal who lived down the street wore a gray suit and pulled off Tubbs to my Crockett. It is the only time besides my wedding and my mothers forced outfits for pictures that I actually coordinated what I wore with another person. For a few months I was stylish, but it was all stolen from a show, so I didn't have style.)

Jackson is especially fond of making up outfits for the occasion. If I have a softball game, he dresses like a baseball player, cleats and all. I once went to church with a grown man who did this. Every week he had a completely different look. He wore a karate outfit one week. On memorial day he wore camouflage from head to toe. He is perhaps the only person over fifteen and not in the armed forces that I have seen successfully pull off wearing a beret. He had style.

My question is "Where did this come from?" It must be genetic, because we certainly haven't taught Jackson this. I am the king of not caring how I look. Sure sometimes I look nice, but it is all an act. Jeans and a tee shirt. That's all I need or want. And while his mother is beautiful, she doesn't really have a style. No, this is something that is purely his. I don't get it or understand it. I worry a little that this will lead to him eventually putting bolts in his earlobes or tattooing the quadratic formula on his forehead. But mostly I like it. People with style make the world better by refusing to be the same. I may not understand wearing a trench coat in June, but the fact that the kid walking down my street earlier today thought it was a good look is enough for me.

So I say, make room for those with style. Don't squash them or try to make them conform. Besides, if we attempt to reel them in, where will all the actors and college professors come from.

(Picture of me in early high school. Proof that I don't have style)