I am officially an old man.
Why do I say this? Simple. Over the last month I have bought four sweaters—all button down cardigans. To accommodate them in my dresser I have removed an equal number of pullover sweaters. The new batch of cardigans joins a similar number already ensconced in my dresser drawers.
Six weeks shy of my 71st birthday I cannot say that I am dressing like my father as he almost never wore any type of sweater, though I do recall a thin grey cardigan that sometimes made an appearance in our home. Never outside.
He never wore a pullover sweater, not that he feared his mostly bald crown would be mussed up. He had suffered from bursitis in his shoulder and sought to avoid having to extend his arms above his head to put on a pullover sweater. I, on the other hand, am still blessed with an almost full head of hair (naturally brown, not tinted as some of my friends have assumed because of my lack of grey hairs). My reluctance to pull on a sweater has to do with not disturbing my coiffure.
Come to think of it, I cannot conjure up any memory of my father dressed what we today would call “casually.” He never wore jeans (except when stretched out on our kitchen floor fixing the dishwasher). Or chinos. If we were going out for a dinner at a delicatessen or slightly more upscale restaurant he wore a suit, usually with a tie. Fathers did that back in the 1950s and 1960s. Anyone who has seen situation comedies from that era, “I Love Lucy” or “The Donna Reed Show” or “Leave It to Beaver,” knows I am right. The only men not in suits were working class stiffs like the husbands in “The Life of Riley” or “The Honeymooners.”
My father was a boss. A garment manufacturer. Suits and ties comprised his wardrobe, though he took his jacket off the minute he opened his factory on lower Broadway every day around 8 am. Dress down to him was not wearing a tie. Actually, “dress down” was not even a term of reference back then.
Though he didn’t change into casual clothing when he came home from work he did remove his tie and suit jacket before sitting down to dinner. He would turn his chair slightly to the right, a habit I have subconsciously taken to doing as well. By the end of the meal he had loosened his belt and unbuttoned his pants at the waist (not something I have emulated).
I bought my first two cardigans, one black, the other winter white, some 10 years ago during a trip to northern England and Edinburgh, Scotland, with our dearest friends Dave and Gemma. I had seen the zippered cardigans in Next, a British chain store, but had demurred buying them. Once back home, I regretted my decision. Fortunately, I was able to prevail upon our friends to buy and ship them to me. Whenever I wear one I am reminded of that and subsequent trips to their home in the small village of Crookham, Cornhill-on-Tweed, Northumberland, where sweaters of all types are standard pieces of everyday apparel.
