This Up For Debate post was formerly published in May 2007. If you have an Up For Debate post you would like to submit, please click here.

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It was a presage of future events, this late-morning jaunt with my oldest daughter, who turns eight in July. My children’s sweat-soaked heads and scrunched-up toes have been imploring me silently to spare a few bucks on clothes that actually fit and are seasonally appropriate.

Shorts, shirts, sundresses, swimsuits, shoes. My eyes quickly scan the clearance racks while my mouth utters the fine points of penny-pinching to my oldest. You can find new clothes for just a few dollars, see? Here’s an Osh-Kosh Genuine Kids dress for your sister. Three dollars! And a lovely one for you, too. All you have to do is look. We scour the stores for deals, and talk money management. She learns that buy-two-get-one-free is not always the best choice (especially when it’s her money), and the temptation of getting extra often lures you into buying more than what you need or spending money you don’t really have.

Our morning was spent in the constant grip of give and take and lessons in functionality vs. style. The chunky, high-heeled sandals that appear to be the in thing for young girls is neither practical nor appropriate, in my opinion. Stores dress our girls as whores, selling them clothes with BRAT and PRINCESS printed across the butt in white, fuzzy letters and tops that invite a second glance.

My daughter is attracted to glitz and glamor, a far cry from the denim capris and 100% cotton tees to which I am accustomed. She dons her Sunday Best to bake mud pies and frilly skirts to climb trees. Most of my clothes are stained by a hard day’s work of cooking and gardening and tending to children, and I know she is ashamed of my comfortable wardrobe.

I think ahead to what these bi-annual excursions will be like once she gets older, and I realize it will never be as easy as it was this day. My opinion holds sway yet; I am able still to convince my daughter that ’tis better to be concerned with how one thinks than how one looks. I am able to argue the merits of a flexible sneaker over the appeal of a beaded clog or emphasize proper hygiene over make-up that simply covers one’s natural beauty.

I catch myself looking longingly at the freckles that bespeck her upturned nose and rosy cheeks, her dark hair devoid of gray strands, her hazel eyes showing no signs of unrest or weary. My daughter, as an infant, could attract perfect strangers, she could draw in passers-by from outside a store, just to dote on the lovely baby. Oh, how beautiful she was! Oh, how beautiful she is!

But I want to protect my children, my girls especially, from what society has labeled as beautiful and all the things it says beauty can buy. My Hannah is an impressionable girl, easily influenced by her friends and advertisers. How will I ever be strong enough or smart enough to convince her that she is absolutely perfect the way she is?