Appearances

"Pop, come on. I've got some errands to run. Let's go for a ride," I say. With a lift in his step and an upbeat, "OK," he dawns his baseball cap and out the door we trot. On his feet are a pair of enormous black suedeish looking, platform heeled shoes. Covering his lower torso and legs are a pair of jeans with a few random pen marks (or is that grease?) which he's possibly worn every day for the past couple of weeks. He has on a plaid shirt with a few streaks of soup or gravy down the front, his cardigan sweater with pulled threads and his baseball cap that comes to a point at the top. Once in the truck he pulls out of his pocket the finale for his fashion statement of the morning; his HUGE aviator, clip on sun glasses that he slides down over the top of his toothpaste spotted, finger printed glasses. When in place, these sun blocks cover half of the upper portion of his small face. What a fashion statement to behold!

I have tried to help him with his wardrobe. But the response is a rather exasperated, "What's wrong with these pants? They're just jeans!" If I mention new shoes, the expression on his face says, "And how much is that going to cost me? These shoes are perfectly functional, thank you."

What ever happened to my well dressed father with a little touch of "cool?" By dad's orders, I remember my mom ironing his white shirts to a state of perfection, not a wrinkle on them. Dawning the white shirt it would be followed by a tasteful tie, equally wrinkle free slacks, snappy suspenders, well polished shoes, a nice sports jacket with a clean handkerchief tucked nicely into the pocket, finished off with a cool pair of shades. Every day wear was equally tasteful, a little outdated by my sister's and my standards, but clean, neat and always a pair of cool sun glasses.

These days his wardrobe is just a source of tension. Every bath-day a tug of war ensues as I begin to enforce the clean-underwear-and-clean-socks-law. On the towel rod in his bathroom I will hang a clean pair of jeans and a clean shirt. Often, though, he will emerge from his cleansing ritual with last weeks pair of jeans and shirt. After inspection I discover that inside those enormous suedish, black shoes are last weeks pair of socks, as well. Too much trouble to get him out of his clothes so I settle for making him sit down, take off the shoes and at least put on the clean socks.

Tonight while he is asleep I will slip into his bedroom take the dirty jeans and shirt, stuff them in the laundry and put out a clean set. Tomorrow morning he will emerge from his morning toiletries wearing the washed and ironed clothes without a clue that he is now as fresh as a daisy.