The Red Jacket

A slightly edited version of a piece I wrote last year on this date and am republishing today on the 100th anniversary of my father's birth.

(Dad & me, 1952)

My dad was born on December 5, 1920. Dad loved wearing red; shirts, sweaters, pants, hats, and for the last decade or so of his life, a bright red windbreaker jacket. Me, not so much. In fact I have always disliked wearing red and avoided it as much as possible.

Shortly after dad passed in 2014 my sister and I got together to go through his things. When we came across the red windbreaker I impulsively told her, “I’ll take it“. It was the only piece of his clothing I kept.

Now when we have cool mornings and evenings in Arizona (yes, we do occasionally get them) I often put on dad’s red jacket before going out and each time I smile and remember. I often think of my first memory of him when I was 3 or 4. We are in the car, dad’s driving and singing. Dad loved singing to my sister and I and he loved driving us around. His standard repetoire included I’ve Been Working On The Railroad, Skin a Marink a Dink, Take Me Out To The Ballgame, and all four military service songs. We learned each one, sang along and never tired of them. As I write this I can hear his soft and smooth singing voice. I’ve inherited his love of singing (I’m not very good but have a wider range of song selections) and, like him, enjoy going on drives with no particular destination in mind. And now my son has the same driving habits.

So I’ll continue to gladly make this exception to my aversion to red clothing. Just don’t ask me to wear anything else red.

And now we’re making new memories. Last December our first grandchild was born to our daughter and son-in-law. Made sure I was wearing the red jacket the first time I held my grandson at the hospital. Dad would appreciate that.

(Anders & Me, 2019)