Tiny Chair, Big Opinions

One day when I was in elementary school, I was sitting in the school library on the computer writing a report for class, and a middle-aged white lady I had never met came and sat next to me. Imagine the “I’m sitting on a tiny chair to speak to a child” pose.

I’m autistic. I continued working, seeing no reason to address the woman and hoping she would go away.

Woman: “Hey, sweetpea, you have to take off your hat. It’s against school rules.”

Me: “I’m not wearing a hat.”

I continued trying to focus on my report. I was wearing a headscarf. I’m white also; it was not a religious headscarf. It was, however, important to me because my hair was very greasy, matted, and full of dandruff. I was already bullied enough as it was. My hair was so thick and curly, and my divorced parents neglected me.

But it was the 1990s, and dollar stores sold cute headscarves. Mine was an orange and green snakeskin print.

The woman grabbed my scarf, but I held it to my head and looked over at her in shock.

Me: “This is a scarf. It’s basically a headband.”

Woman: “All head coverings are hats—”

Me: *Interrupting* “No, that’s not true.”

Woman: “Look, hun, if you wouldn’t wear it in church, don’t wear it to school. You wouldn’t wear a hat in church!”

I was still holding my “hat,” speechless for a moment. I didn’t know a lot of words, like Protestant, which this woman obviously was. Most people in the area were. But I did know some things.

I’d been to my stepmom’s church. She is Black. It seemed like every lady was wearing a huge hat. I’d been to my friend’s church — or maybe a synagogue — where they had spare scarves for women who forgot to wear theirs. On top of that, I had worn cheap little fashion scarves to the Baptist church my mom went to.

In all my eloquence, I responded…

Me: “What? That’s… not…”

Woman: “It’s a gang thing. It’s for your safety.”

It’s been my opinion later in life that this is a remnant of anti-Jewish and anti-Catholic sentiments. All I knew at the time was that this lady was out of line, in my ten-year-old opinion.

I saved my work to my floppy drive and slunk or shuffled away from the woman’s imposing position to stand up.

Woman: “You still need to remove your hat, sweetheart.”

Me: “Who are you?”

Woman: “Oh, I volunteer here. I’m a parent.”

I remembered to smile and look friendly.

Me: “Volunteering to do what?”

She happily responded, and I don’t remember what she said. I lost interest quickly, deciding she had nothing to do with me. I decided to walk away and return to class, so I cut in to say one last comment.

Me: “Church hats.”

Woman: “…what?”

I just mimed having a huge hat and made sound effects with a few flower motions while walking backward.

Woman: “But your hat…”

I mimed a big long feather coming out of the imagined hat.

She just sat there in her tiny chair as I made my exit.