The Redcoats are Coming! The Redcoats are Coming! (How to pick your battles.)

This week, Ben attended “Special Prom,” an event hosted by somebody with a gigantic heart, whose child has special needs. Ben wanted to look “snazzy,” so he went shopping at a thrift store, and this jacket is what he not only found, but set his heart on.

For a mere $3, this guy felt like a million bucks. (Before the purchase, I asked for confirmation that it was from the men’s department. I deemed the label, “Mr. Exec,” admissible evidence and gave it my approval.)

Ben’s DSP, Rachel, helped him secure his wardrobe and took him to the dance. She assured me that Ben had a grand time in his snazzy outfit, dancing, eating, availing himself of the free give-aways, and generally being Ben. (If I could be Ben for a day, I’d do it tomorrow! Wouldn’t you? My current contract allows for sick days, emergency days, or personal days… how would you classify a “Being Ben” day? I think it might be an emergency.)

My first instinct on the red jacket was, “Are you out of your mind?” But I decided to pick my battles. Ben’s favorite thing to do when we are going somewhere, like to church or to a nice restaurant, is to choose his most mismatched ensemble to stride forward in, throwing down the gauntlet. If I don’t comment on the ratty sweatpants with dress shoes and a polo shirt, he stands there, attempting to make eye contact, until I comment on his wardrobe choices. For church on Sunday morning, he had on wrinkled khakis, a black T-shirt, bright blue sneakers, and a baseball cap. I chose to keep my powder dry. The acolyte’s robe would hide most of that. The hat stayed in the car as we knew it would. He just had to show us he could deploy it if he had to.

I am aware that most people, possibly including our daughter, think that we are blind (not completely accurate), or sorely lacking in current fashion knowledge (somewhat accurate) given the way we let him leave the house some days. What most people who are not walking around in our wildly inappropriate shoes don’t understand is that life is a series of compromises. If you can quell a revolution by turning a blind eye to dress socks with sport sandals, don’t you have a moral obligation to do so? Discretion is the better part of valor, after all. I regret that I have but one flaming red jacket to give for my son’s happiness!