Monica Yant Kinney: Here, uniformity just might not fit

If you're a parent, you probably know the theories that support school uniforms. But what about the claim that dressing kids all matchy-matchy in navy and khaki has no impact on test scores, attendance, or behavior?

That counter-argument lured me to Chester County to hear a trio of suburban moms in the unfashionable dissenting minority.

Many folks assume that uniforms are imposed only in private, parochial, charter, or gang-plagued city public schools. But our kitchen-table conference is on the edge of Amish country, amid rural bliss.

We're there to talk about why freedom of choice has been taken from 450 kids in the 8,000-student Coatesville Area district.

The school in question is the joyfully named Friendship Elementary, where children must wear navy, white, maroon, or pink three-button shirts, with navy or khaki bottoms. Also forbidden? Logos, striped socks, and "character" sneakers.

"I've been very happy with the schools," says Mary Damiani, mother of four boys, ages 18, 15, 6, and 4. "I've lived here 20 years. I've never seen any of the problems that usually lead to uniforms."

What else hasn't she seen? Any evidence that Friendship's policy has done much besides pacifying adults who crave conformity.

The school recorded 2 percent fewer absences since uniforms were imposed in 2006, but saw a 1 percent increase in discipline cases. Test scores went up for some, but Friendship did not meet state No Child Left Behind benchmarks.

"To be honest," admits the district's director of elementary education, Camie Arvay, "we don't have definitive information to say uniforms made a difference.

"I've been in the building," she adds. "The children look very nice, but I'm not sure that couldn't be accomplished with a dress code."

Uniforms, Friendship principal Jason Palaia tells me, sprang from the desires of "a very vocal PTO."

Grown-ups were tired of fighting with their kids about clothes. Some parents thought uniforms would be a cost savings. Others claimed having students dressed alike would help keep track of kids on field trips - as if losing children has been a pervasive problem.

"Parents say the kids look cute and that it's 'easier' not to have to make decisions," gripes Lisa Lovelace, a West Chester University dance professor with a second grader named Shane. "Are they going to come to my house and tell me what to cook for dinner, too?"

Palaia hears the complaints, but puts more stake in his staff.

"My faculty wholeheartedly believes we're more unified," he tells me. "Students feel proud of themselves, more confident. They walk with their heads held high."

Kathie Sera's daughters, Evelyn and Lydia, don't. They loathe wearing "boy clothes."

"My girls never owned khaki pants before," says Sera, a nurse recently laid off from Brandywine Hospital. "Money is tight. You can't find girl uniforms at thrift stores."

Damiani's first-grader, Nick, has Asperger's syndrome. He feels best, she says, in "things that are very, very tight." Loose pants, like Dockers, cause him great stress.

Technically, Nick is exempt, but he's still a kid who wants to fit in.

"He says, 'I'll get in trouble if I don't wear the uniform,' " relays Damiani, who is upset that a public school has "a policy that makes my child feel so bad about himself."

The anti-uniform group is pushing an opt-out clause as a compromise. After a recent surprise at a school board meeting, they may get more than they're seeking.

Despite Palaia's enthusiasm, the principals of the district's five other elementaries said they do not want uniforms in their schools. That leaves Friendship looking singled out, which was never the intent.

"We want uniforms to spread to the rest of the district," says school board member Bob Knecht. "But we don't want to push something on people that they don't want."