I’m sorry if I’m repeating myself, but I’m so tired that though I’ve sort-of checked the archives for this story, I could have missed it. However, I had to hear it lots of times, so it’ll be just like you’re my father’s kid if you’ve heard it before.
Among the “college was a huge financial struggle” stories my parents told, one was about my father’s coat. It was a different time, when men wore sports coats and jackets, and my father always wore his to class. He said by graduation time, he hated that jacket with every fiber of his being. The day of his last exam of his senior year, his bus let him off as usual near a field. Before he began the walk home to Northington campus where their apartment was, he said he took off that coat, wadded it up, and hurled it as far as he could into that field.
I don’t know if it was this jacket, but since he always made it sound like there was only one, I’m guessing so. Today when I was taking a nap, I had a bunch of dreams. One of them was about my parents. He was not wearing this jacket. I know he’d appreciate that.