Back in my school days, my uniform always looked sharp and fresh… even though it was the same one from three years prior. Every new school year, my mum would be sewing late into the night.

In high school, my uniform always appeared flawless…
even though it was three years old.
At the start of each year, my mother stitched late into the night.
She unpacked yarn, measured carefully, and placed the lamp over my trousers.
I feigned sleep but heard her threading the needle.
When the “Official School Photo” was announced, I panicked.
My pants no longer buttoned, the bag was frayed, and my shoes were scuffed.
“Ill skip that day,” I told her.
“You wont,” she said quietly. “Leave it to me.”
I watched her adjust the hem, unpicking seams.
The next day, she returned with dye”To freshen the color,” she winkedand matching fabric to extend the pants. I never asked where she found it.
She worked until dawn, pricking her finger twice, smearing the blood away without pausing.
“Done. Walk tall tomorrow,” she said, laying the uniform on my chair.
On photo day, I stepped into the yard, dreading ridicule.
A classmate sneered, “Isnt that your brothers bag?”
But the teacher announced, “How sharp you look today!”
I stood straighter. My photo turned out wellI mightve been the best-dressed.
At home, I found my mother barefoot, her feet dented by worn sandals.
Her favorite dress lay on the tablecut apart.
“Why?” I asked.
“So your pants would fit,” she replied, as if it were obvious. “That dress stayed home. You didnt.”
I hugged her wordlessly. She laughed, ruffling my hair like when I was small.
Years later, I bought clothes without checking prices.
But no outfit ever matched how I felt in those lengthened pantsstitched from her sacrifice.
Parental love isnt bought; it mends, stretches, and teaches you to hold your head high.
**Bonus**
Later, staring at that photo, I didnt just see a boy in uniform.
I saw my mothers handscalloused, prickedholding me together, stitch by stitch.
That image wasnt about fabric. It was her devotion woven into every seam.
When I had children, I grasped the truth:
Love isnt about giving the finest or newest.
Its giving your alleven cutting your favorite dressso your child walks with pride.
The greatest inheritance isnt wealth.
Its knowing love repairs whats broken,
letting the next generation stand tallchin up, unashamed.