My son goes off to high school orientation today. Full dress is required: White shirt, tie, black chinos and suede lace-up shoes.

His new school has a dress code and we spent the weekend buying appropriate clothes at Old Navy and at Lands’ End on-line. This is a first for us. This is a kid whose idea of dressing up is wearng his Black Sabbath T-shirt.

He seems up for a change: New school. New clothes. New kids. Most of his friends are going to new schools this week. The air in Park Slope is thick with flux, fear, and anticipation.

I just told my son that he has to tuck his shirt in. "It’s required," I say. He grimaces and leaves it untucked for the moment.

"I feel Amish," he says, a thought that seems to cheers him up. I suggest we get him a black hat from Lancaster, PA. "Or maybe one of those hats that Hasidic Jews wear. Yeah,"  he adds.

My son is trying to figure out subtle (or not so subtle) ways to subvert the dress code. Now he’s looking through the bag of ties we bought at a stoop sale in Sag Harbor. There’s  a bright purple and orange plaid, a royal blue one with seagulls, an Armani tie, and a mod design with a Native American theme.

He decides against the funky stoop sale ties in favor of one that belonged to his paternal grandfather.

"I think I’ll take Dad’s advice and dress normal for the first week so they’ll think I’m normal," he says staring into the mirror and brushing his hair.

Good advice.

My husband is tying our son’s tie, a silver tie with thin black diagonal lines. A milestone moment. Formal lessons will come later. For now, they are a picture of father/son bonding. 

"Got your belt on?" my husband asks. My son reaches into the Old Navy bag for his new black leather belt. His new black chinos from Old Navy are made of a special liqud repellent chino. "That means I can pour stuff on them if I want to," he says.

Now he’s lacing up his new shoes. They are black suede bucks from Bass (say that three times fast).  A fried egg cooks on the stove. He is too nervous to eat though he does take a few bites of rye toast.

I am the mother of a high school student.

Weird.