I am seasoned and thick-skinned enough to fargin staring, especially from children, though it does hint at poor upbringing. Sometimes, you have to accept it. One case i remember well, was when a friend and I walked into shabbos shacharis at the Satmar bungalow colony. He was wearing a almost white beige suit, and I was either in blue seersucker or maybe mint green. (This was the late seventies, the age of polyester). There were some young ones wide eyed and pointing and who could really object? Now in EY where the cookie cutter lines are really rigid, I find that because I work in ratty uniforms and look like a scarecrow, kids who rarely see a working father take me for an Arab. In some respects, it is a defense mechanism. In the supermarket I am often once overed, and I see the confusion in those young eyes, not being able to assemble the tzitis and the beard with the rest of the package.
