Limited sweaters but boundless of joy. Photo by Tijana Drndarski, Unsplash.
By Iracema Navarro, Politics Editor
The moment the temperature in Southern California is in the 70s and I feel a slight breeze, I know that it’s “Sweata Weatha” season.
A term I first heard when I was 12, rebelling against my parents by staying out past my curfew on Saturday nights to watch Season 33 of Saturday Night Live. Who had a Saturday night curfew? This young, Mexican American girl did.
One of my all-time favorite sketches, “Bronx Beat,” had Amy Poehler and Maya Rudolph using Bronx accents introducing me to sweata weatha and summarized what a young child felt in 15 seconds about the weather, “About time, sweata weatha.”
I truly dislike the heat. There is little that can be done about the heat such as it even when I’m wearing shorts, tank tops, and sandals.No matter what, there is still sweat dripping in areas that should not be mentioned.
I enjoy the challenge of a cold breeze because it is easily defeated with an extra layer of clothes. I like the bundled-up, hold-me-gently feeling of another protective layer.
Sweata weatha, ‘tis the season of long sleeves, hoodies, jackets, coats, scarves, beanies, and most importantly sweaters. Black, white, gray, blue, coral, blue, and even yellow sweaters.
Excitement runs through my veins, and my smile grows as big as the Joker, as I shove my summer clothes into the back of my closet every year. With such disgust, I vow to never see them again. I then take out all my sweata weatha clothes with the excitement of a child grabbing it’s favorite toy.
It’s a season that occurs usually in between fall and winter, but with global warming and climate change, these seasons don’t just feel the same anymore.
Southern California’s weather is quite mischievous. One day it is 84 degrees and then two days later it is 66 degrees, all of this happening in early November. There is no need to convince me about the issues of climate change when I have to scramble looking for shorts a few days after I swore I wouldn’t see them until next summer.
My warm sweaters are clothes that I can trust to keep me warm, clothes that have lasted me longer than any of my other clothes. They are my pride and joy, limited but very much taken care of. I hand wash them with detergent, air dry to prevent shrinking, and fold them with the Marie Kondo method because they spark joy.
A joyful season, the sweata weatha season. Memories arise when I wear a sweater, a connection to a time and place I wish to relive.
Reliving Thanksgiving in my light brown sweater with over 30 members of my family packed in the garage, throwing pieces of paper to my cousin’s two tables to my right.
Reliving Christmas in my ugly sweater, needing to once again explain to my aunts that the green T-Rex on it has on the same sweater, with its shorthands ripping off in the sleeves.
I wish to relive another sweata weatha season on campus. I want to relive telling fellow Toros, “hey, nice sweater!” Relive walking on the library east walkway in my bright red sweater with my hands tucked in my pockets heading to the DH Sports Lounge for my traditional Thursday night beer before my two and a half-hour lecture class. Relive walking to parking lot six in my favorite gray sweater hoping I find my car on the first try. Relive the pride and joy of being a Toro walking through campus.
A campus season soon to come.
