Dress Code

My late father was a dictator. He ruled my world, and mine alone, with his cowboy belt and stern glare. One example of his authoritative regime was how he made me use some of my work money from the summer to buy at least two khakis and three button up shirts. Even though I was only going into the ninth grade, he reasoned that I needed to have professional attire in my closet. I was furious, but couldn't say anything because I didn't want him to break out the cowboy belt. While most teenagers were busy rebelling, I was doing everything in my power to avoid my dad's wrath.

I had three different jobs in high school.

I wasn't allowed to get a flat top either. This was a really big deal in the early and mid 90s. My friends were getting all sorts of designs in their hair and growing tails. I wanted to do it too, but my dad said it didn't look professional and that I wasn't allowed to look like a "bum." If it weren't for my older brother's persistence, I probably wouldn't have gotten to put a part in my hair either.

Even in the last years of his life, I couldn't bring myself to defy my dad. I got twists in my hair when I went off to college. When I came home to visit, from his wheelchair he simply asked, "when are those coming out?" It took twenty minutes for me wash the new look out. Who knows what he would have said, or done, had he known there was a diamond stud in my pocket and a hole in my ear...

I got my first job out of college before I actually graduated.

Lebraun is one of two players on the team I offered a reprieve to regarding our dress code (shirt and tie for away games) because he didn't have enough money to buy the proper attire. Financially, Lebraun has been struggling since I met him. Days after finding out his mother sold the Christmas present he gave her for crack, the triple decker he lives in with his aunt and uncle was repossessed by the bank. Apparently, the owner wasn't paying off the mortgage. This has all driven him to look for a job so he could be less of a burden on his aunt and uncle. I followed up with him recently to see how the job search has been going.

Me: What's going on? Anything going on the job front?
Lebraun: Nah. Nothin'. Nobody's calling me back.
Me: What are you gonna do then?
Lebraun: Well I'm applying for food stamps. I used to get em, like $200 a month, but they stopped comin' once I got a job. I ain't workin now so I applied again.
Me: Hold up. You don't have kids or anything. How do you get food stamps? And why are you getting food stamps? There isn't enough food for you in the crib?
Lebraun: When I go to the welfare office all I gotta do is tell em that I'm bouncin around from place to place. You gotta bullshit, you know.
Me: Why food stamps, though?
Lebraun: My uncle be havin friends over. He's a real generous type-a dude. His friends get there early in the mornin' and just drink and chill all day. After we eat, they get what's left.
Me: And there isn't enough left for you, right?
Lebraun: Exactly. I gotta get my own, man. They eat like everything in the fridge.

Interestingly, he has at least seven different, crisp looking, fitted baseball caps to match his outfits.