This is my father's Don Draper hat. It's been with me since 1989, when he passed away at 57 years of age, way, way too young. Especially since we were just making steps towards repairing a very erratic, troublesome and sometimes violent relationship.
The hat is too small for my beachball-sized noggin, in the same way the role of fatherhood did not fit my rough and tumble Bronx-born dad. He was rough around the edges. He could be brusk. And intimidating. Most importantly, he could be misunderstood.
Years ago, I read Life in America: A Journey with My Father. It was written by Dr. Sherwin Nuland, born Shepsel Ber Nudelman.
A name like that could scar any kid.
It is not an easy book to read. And not because Dr. Nuland, a surgeon, medical historian and Clinical Professor at Yale University, has made it too erudite or unapproachable. The book, by design, asks us to re-examine our own relationships with our fathers (and mothers) keeping in mind that those roles were only a portion of the persons we called mom and dad.
They were humans, who had dreams that never came to fruition, hopes dashed by finances or the circumstances of the times, damage left by their parents, and challenges neither you nor I could imagine or appreciate.
My father, in particular, had an unusually bumpy start in life in that he spent a year in the brig at the Army's Ft. Cooper in Georgia for the "crime" of smoking weed.
A "crime" that no longer merits a second glance, as the smell of cannabis is a welcome relief in downtown urban areas that partially masks the omnipresent aroma of urine.
No point in all this other than to lament the fact that I'm currently on the last season of Mad Men, a show I should not have overlooked when it came out. Apart from the adultery, the day drinking and the cigarette smoking, the Don Draper character resonates. Just as Dr. Nudelman's.
On a recent visit from NYC, my friend Jim tried on my dad's Dobb's chapeau...
1 comment:
Excellent.
Post a Comment