Someone died, and I needed to attend the funeral. Panic set in. Except for several pairs of jeans, flannel shirts, thermal underwear, insulated boots, gloves, and a no-nonsense winter coat, my clothes were still packed in boxes in an unheated storeroom. We'd just moved from Austin, Texas, to Dillon, Montana, and the 10 - 15 degree January temperatures didn't provide much of an incentive for working in those miserable conditions to unearth suitable "dress clothes" taped up in one of those boxes. I told two friends that unless I could find something suitable to wear at the local feed store, the only place in town that sold clothing (western and work clothing) I couldn't go to the service.
They laughed at me and insisted that I wear what I had, and that if I felt too out of place, I could stand in the back of the church. They laughed again. So, because I did feel obligated to attend the service, I put on the cleanest jeans and shirt that I had and went to the church, feeling as though I were being disrespectful to the departed, to the church, and to the other people who would be there that day.
After entering the church, I quickly understood why my friends laughed at me. Nearly everyone was dressed just as I was, in jeans, boots, insulated coats, and gloves. Oh, a few women, a very few, were wearing dresses, but they also had on puffy down coats, and their insulated ski pants were showing between the bottoms of the dresses and the tops of their insulated boots. One or two men were in suits, but they kept their heavy jackets on, too, and boots, rather than shoes, peeked out at the bottoms of their trousers.
Then I understood why my friends laughed. The people attending the funeral were there because they wanted to show respect for the deceased, not because they had the "right" clothes to wear. And in Montana, community and weather are the ties that bind, and no one cares what you have on anyway.
Lesson learned.
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