A Fathers Day post.
Once, long ago, but not so very far away, I went to buy a suit. It was for a boy who was getting married that summer, and - after - starting his very first job.
We knew nothing about buying suits. My dad had been a tweed sports coat man, teacher chalk in the pockets; his, always a modest clerical charcoal. We were starting from nothing. we walked to the far end of the town, to the Co op, and we looked for cheap, in the last of those days when "serviceable" was a real word, and we found it.
And we got married; and, in the years since then, there have been many more suits: the navy wool, the Prince of Wales check, double breasted, single, narrow, wide, accommodating, sharp. We had a son; and, standing in Zara last Saturday afternoon, I realised how the world has moved on. He knows what he wants, he has a plan. He has two parents to stand beside him and tell him that, yes, looking like Harvey from the TV show "Suits" was entirely possible and probably just exactly the right way to go.
He's almost the very same age, now, that his Dad was when I met him. It's the same, but it's different. That's right. I think.
Happy Fathers Day!