Wisdom In My Apron Pocket

“Where’s my apron?” -my 8-year-old stepdaughter, Sydney, asked after the church meeting. I looked at her, pondering her question.

Early that morning, my two stepdaughters and I were to attend a ladies luncheon at our church. The theme was “Wisdom In My Apron Pocket.” Ladies were encouraged to wear their aprons. There would be an Apron Fashion Show.  

I had found a plain apron and on the day of the event I started to decorate it. I asked Sydney and her 12 year-old sister Claire if they wanted to help decorating my apron. I thought it might be a fun activity for the three of us.  

And, it certainly was.  

Our minds connected in our singular world to decorate the apron. Creativity splashed out with ideas as our hands crafted what our minds envisioned. Vibrant colors and shapes, blending magically on the canvas of the plain apron. No doubt, we were having a great time.


I asked the girls if they would like to have their own aprons to wear at the luncheon, but the girls declined. “Do they think aprons are only for older ladies?”--I wondered. 

The idea of the apron was so unique. The church ladies couldn’t have come up with any better theme for the occasion. Viewing my apron was like going back in time to some of my most beautiful memories in life: time with my mother and grandmother. I still can picture them in my mind, wearing their own aprons while cooking our meals, taking care of our home, and even while bathing us. 

The apron revived memories of my mom and grandma sewing.  I felt as if I could hear the sewing machine churning as my grandma pedaled it, with a rhythm that synched with my heart beats of happiness, while I watched her create from a pile of cut cloth a new summer dress I would  wear on Sunday to church, and later to the park for a walk. 

Their aprons symbolized coziness, protection, modesty. There was always something in their pockets. I often hoped for them to dig in their apron pockets, and find one or two coins: my reward for behaving, and the key to the treats in the candy store down the street.  

I too had an apron. My grandma made one for me. I had worn it proudly. But I think I forgot about my apron in my pre-adolescent years. I can understand Claire and Sydney not wanting to wear aprons. Aprons are vintage fashion after all, aren’t they? 

But just as my memories had come to the present from the past, once my stepdaughters and I had finished decorating the apron, we all three became excited. We shared a feeling of pride and satisfaction, praising ourselves for our creation.  We had crafted little dresses and sewed on the apron.

They resembled the ones my mom and grandmother had sewn for me, those many years ago.  

The apron fashion show at the church was wonderful. A lot of beautiful and meaningful aprons were modeled and explained. A few aprons were given away as prizes. Claire won one. She put it on. I had mine on, too. 

So, when the event was over, and as we were leaving, I looked at Sydney.  I could see in here eyes that she was still wondering, “Where’s my apron?”  I took my apron off and knelt next to her.  I hung the apron over her neck and said,  “Sydney, this is your apron.”  She yelped,  “Yeah! Can I keep it?” with wide eyes and a grin. 

“Of course,” I said, "I made it for you.”