The Things You Keep

A father’s gift—unworn for years—proves a perfect fit for the next generation.

illustration by Margaret Riegel

Years ago, when I was single and working as a graphic designer, I got an unusual birthday present from my parents. Before I opened it, my mom made a point of telling me that my dad had picked it out. This was very odd. For as long as I could remember, I had been dragged along to help my dad buy gifts for her. Shopping was not something he did for fun; he considered it a necessary evil. We would go to Lord & Taylor in Paramus, and I prayed we would find something, and fast. He would look for a mannequin he liked, grab all the pieces of the outfit and get out as fast as possible.

I could tell by the look on my mom’s face that she took no responsibility for the contents of the package. It looked harmless enough: a shirt-sized package, elegantly wrapped, with a coordinating bow. Removing the wrapping, I beheld a neat white box. Lord & Taylor, of course.

As my parents watched, I lifted the lid and flipped open the tissue paper to reveal a butter-soft black leather vest. It was not something I would have bought for myself; I certainly did not expect it from my father. My mother laughed a little and told me, “He insisted you needed this.” My father, a bit embarrassed, agreed. He was an engineer; I was a preppy graphic designer. He liked to think of me as his rebel-artist daughter. To him, I was edgy, and so was this vest.

I wasn’t sure I would ever wear it. For starters, I didn’t have anything that went with it. I might have felt I couldn’t live up to the attitude it projected. But I did not admit that even to myself, and so I kept the vest. Whenever I came across it in my closet, it made me smile.

Years passed. The vest stayed in my closet. Tailored and sleek, without a trendy brand name, it never went out of style. I met a man, and after some time we married. When we moved into our new home in Ridgewood, I unpacked quite a few questionable fashion items that he gently mocked. (Perhaps we should have assessed each other’s closets before we leaped into wedlock?) But the vest, he agreed, was okay. He was just disappointed there was no Harley to go with it.

My father never asked about the vest, and I never wore it, not once, not even just to please him.
When my husband and I were renovating our house, I packed away the vest, carefully folding it in a dry-cleaning bag, even though it had never gotten dirty. Months later, I unpacked it and hung it in our new closet. I wondered why I kept it, but somehow I could not let it go.

My daughter was four when my father died. She didn’t remember much of her time with him, but I talk about him often. When she turned 12 last spring, she was cast as a pirate in a middle-school play. Coming home that afternoon, she announced, “I need a vest, a black one.”

I jumped up, ran to my closet and swiftly returned with the dry-cleaning bag flapping behind me. My daughter was stunned, but pleased. There are many things that I have to beg my 12-year-old to do, but trying on the vest was not one of them.

The night of the play, there she was on stage, a pirate—my pirate—wearing the costume she put together herself. Then it hit me—why I’d never worn the vest. Because it wasn’t for me, it was for her. She will remember my dad every time she wears it. She will have the perfect clothes to go with it—and the right attitude. Edgy. Cool. Awesome.

Freelance writer Kathy Anne Cowie is a partner at c-squared design in Westwood. She occasionally wears leather…shoes.

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