The calendar says April so I’m ready to trade in this winter coat for my spring jacket. My mother is not ready.
“It’s only thirty degrees,” she says. “Wait a few weeks until it warms up”
We live in Grand Rapids, not as far north as Traverse City but not Florida either.
I know my mother is right but it’s not about being right. It’s about being cool—and I know it’s not cool to wear my winter coat. So, I lie.
“Everybody else is wearing their spring jackets,” I tell her and she finally gives in. Hanging up the heavy parka, I grab my flimsy windbreaker and dash out the door.
The wind takes my breath away and I pull the zipper up to my chin. My best friend Carol is waiting at the end of the driveway to walk to school together—and I notice she’s wearing her winter coat. I just hope my mother isn’t looking out the window.
“Let’s race,” I say to Carol and we take off running.
When we slow down, Carol says, “My mom won’t let me wear my spring jacket yet.” I shrug, as if it’s no big deal, and wonder if she notices that I’m shivering.
I yearned to be cool but instead, I’m just cold—freezing, in fact, but I will never tell my mother.
