What Our Mothers Wore

What Our Mothers Wore

Mothers wore house dresses. Occasionally you might spot a mom in clam diggers or pedal pushers. Shorts were for kids. A grown woman was never seen in them. My mother owned some; I know because she handed them down to me, but I never saw her wear them, likewise I have no recollection of my mother wearing a bathing suit. Yet, I do recall that she owned at least one bathing cap, because that too, was passed down to me. Women and girls had to wear bathing caps in public pools, because it was said their long hair would foul the drains. In the ‘60’s boys began to wear long hair and the rule was changed – more of the blatant chauvinism we meekly accepted in the 40’s and 50’s. If women wore full length pants, it was for a very specific purpose, horseback riding, flying an airplane, or because she was a strange person. Dresses were worn to play tennis.

Other mothers wore nice dresses, with stockings held up by girdles or garter belts, high heeled shoes, jewelry and lipstick. My mother wore cotton housedresses with brown oxfords and bobby sox. She had very few clothes and they were quite worn. She said she would not wear junk jewelry, only the real thing. The only jewelry she owned was her tiny chip of a diamond engagement ring and a narrow gold band, she wore no other jewelry. The gold band wore so thin it broke and my dad had the two halves mounted on new gold bands and they each wore half of the original ring.

My mother was beautiful – she resembled Lauren Bacall, and she had a very good figure. I felt sorry for other girls who had old moms or fat moms. She was especially pretty when she got dressed up to go to the General Engineering department’s Christmas party. She had a new party dress each year – probably because last years’ was ruined. I remember wine stains and cigarette burns on her clothes after a party. Most of the party clothes were rayon and melted very easily when touched by a cigarette. Since everyone smoked, that was pretty likely to happen. One year her party dress was bright red taffeta and she looked so pretty – she always wore Apple Blossom perfume. When my dad saw her in her dress all ready to go to the party, he said, “Wow, red!” Baby brother Kenny mimicked him and said “Wow, red!” What he had noticed was how good she smelled and he thought “Red” meant good-smelling. For years after we said, “Wow, you smell red!” when someone smelled good.

When we became the same size we shared party dresses. I didn’t like that arrangement because if she borrowed my dress, it came back with cigarette holes and if I wore hers, I had to wear a dress with burn marks

Because I was the oldest of five children, Mom was pregnant a fair amount of the time. She had more to wear then because friends passed on their maternity clothes to her. I remember one pink maternity dress she wore when expecting Valery. She looked cute in it and my cousin Connie, who must have been three years old at the time said, “Aunt Ruthanne, can I have that dress when you outgrow it?”

My grandmother Mimi treated me like her baby doll. She took me shopping, and to ladies lunches with fashion shows. We usually went to Edy’s where I would have a deviled egg sandwich and a hot fudge sundae, or to Capwell’s restaurant where I had a half avocado stuffed with crab meat. If we went to San Francisco, we went to Townsends where she ate creamed spinach –I wouldn’t touch the stuff. Going downtown or to San Francisco was a big deal and we got all dressed up – the grown up women always wore hats and gloves. Often we had our picture taken by a sidewalk photographer. Mimi usually sent for the photograph.

Mimi dressed well – often in a hand-knit dress she had made herself. In truth, she was not very attractive, but I never realized it because she was always so well groomed and such a coy flirt. She smelled of lavender and exuded feminity.

Like many teenagers, I became ashamed of my mother and the way she dressed. I made and bought her clothes for birthdays and Christmases which I think she took as criticism. And it was. My gifts often ended up crumpled on the closet floor and I never saw her wear them. Of course, I gave her things I would have liked for myself, so they were probably more to the taste of a 50’s teenage girl than a mature, approaching middle-age (37!), woman. And so we entered an age of mutual disapproval.