The Little Gray Dress

The year was 1968/69 when the little gray dress first made its appearance. It was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen as a little girl. It was not a frilly or froufrou dress, and it wouldn’t have turned heads or garnered many oohs and ahhs from a crowd. There were no diamonds, pearls, lace, or ruffles. When looking at the little gray dress, there was absolutely nothing spectacular about it. But, from the moment my mom placed it in my hands, it was love at first sight. I knew it would be my favorite dress from that day forward.

At that time, my mom often made dresses for my sisters and me with her sewing machine. I’m not sure if she purchased the little gray dress or made it, but it didn’t matter. It was the perfect double-breasted dress with six large, white buttons on the front and thin red and white horizontal and vertical pinstripes. There was just enough space between the squares to keep the dress from looking too busy.

The little gray dress had no sleeves, which made it the perfect dress for those long, hot Mississippi summers where I grew up. Since the material was semi-thick cotton, it was also perfect for the winters that were not brutal but still cold. That made it the perfect season to wear my little white turtle-neck, black leotards, and my little black patent leather shoes. Although I was only 7 or 8 years old and in third grade, I felt like a big girl whenever I put that outfit on.

No one made a fuss over it or asked, “Where did you get that dress?”

And boy was I glad! I always hoped no one would notice me. I was a shy little girl who never made a fuss over myself, either. Most people would have never guessed that I was an introvert. Only a few people knew of my shyness and called attention to it, but in a quiet way. I might’ve gotten compliments on the little gray dress, but who remembers at that age? And who cares?

It was the era of the pop/rock & roll group, The Jackson 5. Who could resist that cute little boy named Michael with his high tenor voice? He was every little girl’s boyfriend at that time. Oh, Michael and I were always traveling. I’d put on my little gray dress or some other outfit, grab a helmet, hop on his motorcycle, and we were off like the wind—zipping through countrysides and the streets of some Parisian city. At least in my little dreams. I didn’t even own a bicycle at that time, and with Michael traveling the world to sing, in real life, I’m not sure if he owned one either.

Liking a little boy in my dreams was less terrifying than in the real world. One of my older sisters (by 2 ½ years) was the only person who knew about my crush on a real little boy that lived a few houses down the street. 

One day, while playing outside, the boy came near our home. Immediately, my sister called out his name and yelled, “Hey, Emma likes you!”

“Why did you do that?” I turned and screamed at her.

Every bone in my body trembled as I ran away. I hid behind the living room door, praying that the boy did not come inside to look for me. Would he notice me the next time I wore my little gray dress to school? Would he say anything to me the next time he passed by our house or saw me on the school bus? I hoped not. It was no surprise when my sister came inside and pulled the door forward to expose me, with the little boy standing beside her. She was evil like that.

The little gray dress was worn weekly, sometimes with a different top or blouse underneath, and sometimes without, depending on the weather. Sometimes it was worn with the black patent leather shoes, and sometimes with my little red tennis shoes. But never with leotards during the summer.

Sometime after the behind-the-door scene, my two sisters and I became members of a local church that we’d attended for our entire lives. Mom had joined the church at an earlier time. I don’t know why she didn’t have our baby brother to join us, but with him being only 3 or 4 years old, she might’ve felt he was too young to understand. As I sat with my feet dangling from one of the chairs placed at the altar for us, I had no idea what was happening myself at the age of 7 or 8 years old. However, I do recall hearing that we would be baptized at a later time.

Baptism day seemed to take forever to arrive. The weather was hot on the day that we’d sat at the altar, but the season had changed by the day of the big event. It was the perfect time to wear the little gray dress with a blouse underneath and my black patent leather shoes, although we had to change into different attire once we were at church. I sat anxiously on the bench, waiting for my turn to be dipped in the water.

It was more terrifying than having the little boy see me standing behind the door. I could hardly wait for it to be over. Being held underwater, even for one second, was too long for me. Afterward, I put on the little gray dress, my blouse, and shoes and returned home.

I didn’t know why that dress stood out from any of the others I owned. I had dresses that were prettier and much more colorful. Nevertheless, except for a blue sailor dress that my mom purchased for me, I can’t describe any of the other dresses.

As I grew older, I felt the little gray dress represented me and everything about my personality. I’m not frilly or froufrou, and I don’t turn heads or garner many oohs and ahhs from a crowd. I’m still an introvert who likes diamonds, pearls, and a little bit of ruffle, but not so much the lace. Some people would probably say there’s absolutely nothing spectacular about me, but we can always agree to disagree.

I can’t recall the day when the little gray dress disappeared or the last time I put it on, but after nearly two years of being together, we parted ways somehow. It was not even passed down to my younger sister, like most clothes in great condition are, in a household of girls.

I would not be surprised if the buttons were stowed away in mom’s tin container with other buttons that are nearly 70 years old. She always cut the buttons off to reuse elsewhere when the clothes were no longer useful. Maybe it was for the best that the relationship with the little gray dress ended the way it did. Just the thought of seeing it on someone else would’ve been too much for my young mind to handle.