Hello and welcome to a robotics Saturday here at the Wannaskan Almanac. Today is April 9th. I hope you haven't planted your spring garden yet.
"Do any of you have a letterman jacket?" the high school guidance counselor asked the assembled teens. Only a few hands were raised among the fifty or so students who were receiving an academic letter award on Monday night.
My heart sank just a little bit. Letterman jackets (and sweaters) remind me of shoo-bop-doo-wop and poodle skirts; greasy pompadours and Friday night football of the 1950s and 1960s nostalgia of my parents' youth. Whether it was Danny Zuko from Grease or the Happy Days gang, my child self ate it all up with a spoon.
The idea of slapping a big letter on a sweater to convey excellence is credited to the 1865 Harvard baseball team. "In 1865, the coaches of Harvard’s baseball team wanted a way to distinguish the best players and to reward them for their athletic prowess. They decided on a wearable. They had thick, wool sweaters made and embellished them with an oversized H. The coaches dubbed the recipients of these sweaters as 'the Letterman.' Players vied for the coveted sweaters and, therefore, upped their game." The Harvard football team followed suit a decade later. Over time, the exclusive "letterman" club broadened to include anyone who had earned at least one Varsity letter, and the sweaters gave way to the jackets we see today. (Source)
I have to stop thinking that I was in high school ten years ago when, in fact, next year it will be thirty years ago. But, regardless, "when I was in high school" (a phrase old folks tend to use the older or more nostalgic we get) letterman jackets were very much a thing. My school's were a gorgeous fire engine red wool with gray leather sleeves. While I didn't own a jacket myself (a topic for another blog post), I can remember being invested enough to observe the number of chevrons grow like flowers of pride blooming down one arm while marveling at the number of activities noted on the other arm of my classmates. Half the fun was guessing what the patches represented: football, soccer, academics, drama. I think my favorite was the winged shoe for track and field. Even kids who had nothing except their names embroidered on the front left space still looked cool to me.
Girls weren't wearing their beaus' jackets in my era; they had their own. There was still a sweetheart or two who carried on the tradition, but beware the scorned, lest she shred, torch, or trash this beloved symbol of high school extracurricular prowess.
I know that black and gold letterman jackets were a thing at my kids' high school (because I remember seeing them) and believe we can safely point the finger at the Global-Event-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named for tamping out school spirit. How could a kid get excited when there were no activities to attend? What's a jacket for if you have no patches to claim? Having had a child graduate during the Time of Covid, the collective, cynical sentiment of seniors was to pick up their trays, accept the slop they'd been served, and keep moving down the lunch line of life, the words, "Next!" ringing in their ears.
And keep moving is what our students have done. This past school year, we saw high school students resuming their activities. One-Act was an in-person performance instead of a virtual submission. FRED Robotics won the Chairman's Award at the Great Northern Regionals and got to cheer and cry, then gather together for a group photo at the Alerus Center. Hockey teams attended state high school championships and got to bring their families and the pep band. On his scholarship applications, the Senior 2.0 listed fourteen activities he had participated in over the four years of his high school career despite the pandemic. The WAKWIR* packed in a 4.0 of advanced classes around four extracurriculars, pep and jazz bands, piano lessons, confirmation class, and volunteering in the last trimester. (All of this rumination makes me wonder why I haven't cheered on the purchase of letterman jackets.)
I don't think the tradition of letterman jackets has gone away forever. As humans re-emerge like perennials lying dormant in the ground, so too, will school spirit emerge. A few weeks ago, I attended a funeral and while it was the loss of a much-loved person that brought hundreds together, the joyful thought that kept poking my brain was: "It feels so good to be together in community again."
It was probably parents prodding their sons and daughters to get jazzed up and dressed up for a seemingly "boring" Monday evening to acknowledge the success of their kids' hard-earned academic letters. I attribute the exceptionally well-attended turnout to something beyond parental pride: the thrill of having events to attend at all. The desire to be recognized - and the space to do so - is returning. As the guidance counselor lamented running out of cookies - "We've never had this many people before!" - I offered this thought: let's celebrate the notable difference between the pre-pandemic gripe: "Another thing to attend." and the post-pandemic trill: "Another thing to attend!" and simply enjoy being together.
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On This Day
Historic Highlights (credits)
Happy Birthday to You!🎶
Remembering You
Kim
Thanks for the stroll down memory lane. I used to wear a Dave Letterman fan jacket, but it’s gone out of style.
ReplyDeleteWAKWIR, by his very name, will always be Wannaskan Almanac's letterperson!
ReplyDelete