In high school, my uniform always appeared flawless,
though it was the same one from three years prior.
At the start of each year, my mother sewed late into the night.
Id take out the yarn box, the measuring tape, and position the lamp over my trousers.
I pretended to sleep but heard her threading the needle with a quiet breath.
When they announced “School Picture Day,” I panicked.
My pants no longer fitthe bag wouldnt fasten, the shoes were scuffed at the toes.
“Ill skip that day,” I told her.
“You wont,” she said calmly. “Leave it to me.”
I watched as she adjusted the hem, took the fabric apart.
The next day, she ironed the bag and returned with cheap dye.
“To freshen the color,” she said with a wink. “And look.”
The “look” was matching fabric to lengthen the pants. I didnt ask where it came fromI learned later.
That night stretched long.
She pricked her finger twice, leaving a tiny blood stain inside the hem.
Wiped it away, kept sewing.
“Done. Walk tall tomorrow,” she whispered, leaving the uniform on my chair.
On photo day, I stepped into the yard, terrified my patched clothes would show.
A classmate sneered, “Isnt that your brothers sack?”
My ears burneduntil the teacher called out,
“How sharp you look today!”
I breathed. Took the picture. Felt proud.
When I returned, my mother sat barefoot, her sandals leaving marks.
Her favorite dress lay on the tablecut apart.
“Why?” I asked.
“To make your pants reach your ankles,” she said simply. “That dress never left the housebut you do.”
I hugged her, wordless. She laughed, ruffling my hair like when I was small.
Years later, I bought clothes without checking prices.
But none ever fit as well as those pants lined with her dress.
Parental love isnt always boughtsometimes its sewn together stitch by stitch,
teaching you to hold your head high.
**Bonus**
Years after, when I saw that photo again, I didnt just see a boy in uniform.
I saw her handsweary, marked with needle jabsholding me together.
That picture wasnt about clothes. It was her sacrifice, woven into every seam.
When I became a parent, I finally knew:
Love isnt giving the newest or shiniest.
Its giving your alleven cutting up your favorite dressso your child walks with pride.
The richest inheritance isnt money or gold.
Its knowing love will always mend whats broken,
so the next generation stands tall
head held high.
My High School Uniform: Spotless and Stylish, Even After Three Years, Thanks to Mum’s Nighttime Sewing Sessions!
