Dad's Old Coat
Growing up in my household, fashion had always been a bit of a touchy subject between the kids and parents. Namely because our parents didn't understand our constant preference of jeans, t-shirts and sneakers as our daily "uniform". In retrospect, I can understand my parent's desire for us to dress appropriately for certain occasions (I still remember the battle royal that went down during the infamous "graduation fiasco"), but on the other hand, we were kids. Isn't it in our nature to rebel through any means, including through our fashion? That sociological question not withstanding, this is not a tirade on pre-teen fashion choices.
After arriving in my current residence, I took stock of several items that I had in my possession. One of them had been my father's coat. Before my departure, he gave it to me, claiming that it would help me "stay warm". Granted, I took him at his word, not knowing that the ensuing winter would be overwhelming for it. Then again, how can one truly prepare a sub-Saharan man for the harsh climatic change that would follow with an extensive relocation.
Recently, I was going through some spring cleaning, cleaning out my closet, tossing out the old, in order to make way for the new. Now, I'm not fashion-minded in the slightest. Sure, I know how to look good, but I don't keep up-to-date with the latest trends in fashion, nor do I care to. I have a simple look that I stick with and that works for me. Anyways, as I was cleaning out my closest, I came across my father's coat. it had been hanging in my closest for the better part of lord-knows-how-long. Naturally, my first instinct was to bundle it up, set it aside and then contribute it to some poor soul who would probably have more use for it than I would. But, as I held it in my hands, I was suddenly arrested. Literally! I could not move, nor could I even take my eyes of it.
Now, my father's coat in question is hardly the most fashionable piece of clothing on the planet. It's a tan coat, complete with elbow-patches. It's the sort of coat that would have been trendy during the 70's, but hardly today (or perhaps it could be, depending on your tastes). It's not particularly warm nor tasteful. On top of that, it's not my size. But yet, at that moment, the idea of parting with it just seemed so overwhelming that I nearly had an anxiety attack. I'm sure mental health professionals reading this would think I'm exaggerating, but I assure you it felt like one.
The simple truth is, I couldn't bear to get rid of it. This ridiculous article of clothing simply had a hold on me. I couldn't get rid of it. So, I put it back, got rid of the rest and decided to ponder this development while imbibing in my favorite guilty pleasure (which I will not mention on this medium, but for those of you who know me, you know what it is *wink wink). After some soul searching, I finally got it.
My father is a good man. Smart, hard working, loving and supportive. He's not perfect though. He's riddled with flaws and imperfections. But, he tries. Everyday, he wakes up and tries to be a good man. Unfortunately, it took me years to fully understand that. And this is something that brings me incredible heart-ache. Perhaps it is because of how far we have been separated, perhaps it is because I realize now how much I've learned from him, perhaps it's because I now realize that there are things that I wanted to say to him, things I wish I could say to him.
Circumstances are hardly optimum, nor are they timely. But, such is the nature of this great big piece of machinery we call life. But, it does impart some wisdom through trial and error and the subsequent experiences that follow.
The coat is my dad. Seriously, it's uncanny. I've had the damn thing for a while, and yet it still smells like him. It still has his scent, that undeniable combination of strong cologne and Marlboro cigarettes. Just being near the damn thing brings back so many memories with the man that it's almost my own personal time-machine.
Looking upon this, I've come to realize that he had more of an impact on me than I realized. From him, I learned the meaning of hard-work, devotion, dedication and purpose. I learned the value of having a goal and working towards it. I learned that my self-worth is not predicated upon the opinions of others. I learned that I have more strength than I realize, otherwise I would not have been able to endure all that I have. Most of all, I learned that I am HIS SON! And the man does not do sub-par work....ever.
Unfortunately, I learned all of this far too late. I can not undo all that. I can't change the past. But, I can do what he would want me to do. That is, to wake up and be a better man than I was when I went to sleep the night before. To be the best. For society, for others, but most of all, for myself.
I learned all that just by seeing that old, raggedy, unsightly thing (a coat that he always managed to make look classy and stylish, but I suppose that's simply the power of my father).
In the end, all I can do is be the best, do my best and hope for the best. Beyond that, it's out of my hands. He taught me that....and I'll forever be grateful.
I love you, pops. One day, I'll make you proud one day.
After arriving in my current residence, I took stock of several items that I had in my possession. One of them had been my father's coat. Before my departure, he gave it to me, claiming that it would help me "stay warm". Granted, I took him at his word, not knowing that the ensuing winter would be overwhelming for it. Then again, how can one truly prepare a sub-Saharan man for the harsh climatic change that would follow with an extensive relocation.
Recently, I was going through some spring cleaning, cleaning out my closet, tossing out the old, in order to make way for the new. Now, I'm not fashion-minded in the slightest. Sure, I know how to look good, but I don't keep up-to-date with the latest trends in fashion, nor do I care to. I have a simple look that I stick with and that works for me. Anyways, as I was cleaning out my closest, I came across my father's coat. it had been hanging in my closest for the better part of lord-knows-how-long. Naturally, my first instinct was to bundle it up, set it aside and then contribute it to some poor soul who would probably have more use for it than I would. But, as I held it in my hands, I was suddenly arrested. Literally! I could not move, nor could I even take my eyes of it.
Now, my father's coat in question is hardly the most fashionable piece of clothing on the planet. It's a tan coat, complete with elbow-patches. It's the sort of coat that would have been trendy during the 70's, but hardly today (or perhaps it could be, depending on your tastes). It's not particularly warm nor tasteful. On top of that, it's not my size. But yet, at that moment, the idea of parting with it just seemed so overwhelming that I nearly had an anxiety attack. I'm sure mental health professionals reading this would think I'm exaggerating, but I assure you it felt like one.
The simple truth is, I couldn't bear to get rid of it. This ridiculous article of clothing simply had a hold on me. I couldn't get rid of it. So, I put it back, got rid of the rest and decided to ponder this development while imbibing in my favorite guilty pleasure (which I will not mention on this medium, but for those of you who know me, you know what it is *wink wink). After some soul searching, I finally got it.My father is a good man. Smart, hard working, loving and supportive. He's not perfect though. He's riddled with flaws and imperfections. But, he tries. Everyday, he wakes up and tries to be a good man. Unfortunately, it took me years to fully understand that. And this is something that brings me incredible heart-ache. Perhaps it is because of how far we have been separated, perhaps it is because I realize now how much I've learned from him, perhaps it's because I now realize that there are things that I wanted to say to him, things I wish I could say to him.
Circumstances are hardly optimum, nor are they timely. But, such is the nature of this great big piece of machinery we call life. But, it does impart some wisdom through trial and error and the subsequent experiences that follow.
The coat is my dad. Seriously, it's uncanny. I've had the damn thing for a while, and yet it still smells like him. It still has his scent, that undeniable combination of strong cologne and Marlboro cigarettes. Just being near the damn thing brings back so many memories with the man that it's almost my own personal time-machine.
Looking upon this, I've come to realize that he had more of an impact on me than I realized. From him, I learned the meaning of hard-work, devotion, dedication and purpose. I learned the value of having a goal and working towards it. I learned that my self-worth is not predicated upon the opinions of others. I learned that I have more strength than I realize, otherwise I would not have been able to endure all that I have. Most of all, I learned that I am HIS SON! And the man does not do sub-par work....ever.
Unfortunately, I learned all of this far too late. I can not undo all that. I can't change the past. But, I can do what he would want me to do. That is, to wake up and be a better man than I was when I went to sleep the night before. To be the best. For society, for others, but most of all, for myself.
I learned all that just by seeing that old, raggedy, unsightly thing (a coat that he always managed to make look classy and stylish, but I suppose that's simply the power of my father).
In the end, all I can do is be the best, do my best and hope for the best. Beyond that, it's out of my hands. He taught me that....and I'll forever be grateful.
I love you, pops. One day, I'll make you proud one day.
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