Irreverance and Derelection

I learned something very important shortly after my  40^th birthday – nearly 6 years ago now.

With only the occasional exception of my Lovely Wife, Nobody’s looking at Me.

I dunno if It's a universal truth for the condition of being male, over 40, in Western Civilization... Or it's Just Me.

This is not a complaint, by any means. It was nearly as freeing 5ish years ago as it was when I made the same discovery of my relative invisibility – at least to my class mates - in high school. My audience will note that one of the most commonly wished-for superpowers is, indeed, invisibility… with Telepathy a close second.

And here it’s innate for me. But it’s problematical. Back after I left high school, it suddenly evaporated completely on me; probably as it was bestowed upon me by my peer group… and I changed peer groups. Now… Now I find it breeds complacency to the point of dereliction.

Best not to ask me about the Telepathy. I’m a Dad. Their mother is even better. Drives our boys insane.

We used to accuse Dad of being… well, at least, dressing… like a Derelict.

Perhaps that seems harsh. Dad liked – when not playing School Principal – to dress strictly for comfort. This worked out to green cotton pants (loose). Pants. Calling them chinos would be excessively kind, and probably historically inaccurate. A sweatshirt of an indiscriminate colour over a plain white tee, his black and grey wool hunting coat, mangled black cowboy hat, and a pair of Greb Kodiaks, unlaced… Insoles hanging out.

Add a shock of Mad Trapper White hair sticking out and a grizzled full beard, and you get the picture.

And Yet.

And yet from 8 to 5 Monday through Friday until 1997 he cut a western-professional impression in a suit and well-shone (but well worn) cowboy boots. He’d come home and hang up the image with the suit, and slip into irreverence. 

Yep, Irreverence. Dad was accused of that once by a fellow he’d met somewhere west of the sticks on some hunting trip or other with his oldest friend from the Old Country. He loved telling that story. 

I think he wore irreverence on his sleeve like a badge of honour – unknowingly at first – but after he was classified that day… with pleasure and a certain aplomb. Hence his out-of-school mode of dress; it was, in hindsight, a complete shucking of civilization for comfort and convenience. He dressed like a derelict because out of school, he had nothing to prove to anyone, and no one to impress, and took very little seriously.

Perhaps subconsciously I have - imperfectly - taken that page from the book of Dad. While at work these days, post forty, in my business-casual corporate culture, I dress like a man in dire need of a monkey and a yellow hat.

So? I like chinos.

It occurs to me that I must more completely adopt the page from the book of Dad, however. Not only do I not Clean Up as highly (ie – no suits, no ties) – but I also may take a few too many things slightly too seriously when not at work… and, thus, my usual decayed manner of dress-off-duty at least all matches, and is indicative of a particular style.

My Lovely wife will tell you, that style – and my favourite summer uniform – the Black shirt with the outlined orange dragon, surmounted from the bottom up in yellow and red flames, with matching flaming shorts – is the stuff nightmares, and she prefers not to be seen with me in public when I’m wearing that.

Perhaps I should rethink this, since nobody’s looking at me anyway. Completely adopt the page, at least the not-at-work part, and descend into irreverence. It strikes me that my Dad was a lot more fun to be around than maybe I am.

Less Harry Callaghan. More Heathcliff Huxtable. 

Couple years ago I'd shop in pjays. Why did I stop that? Nobody's looking at me. Seriously. Who cares?

Maybe I’ve already (finally) started.

Ask Youngest Kid about trolls some time. I need a new Summer Shirt.