my father's navy watch cap

It took my dad several months to figure out how to access my blog. I'm not exactly sure what was so elusive about it for him. But after sending him a link numerous times he finally got on it, and read it, this summer. He was pretty surprised, I think, that we both were writers and he loved the stories of my life that he found here. We had a lot in common. More than I realized for most of my life. Our looks, our love of photography and writing, our tempers. Our distractable minds, our cleft chins, and our love of family.

The poem below was my closing for the celebration of Dad's life we held on Sunday. I read it and then we followed it with a communal recitation of the Kaddish, the Jewish mourner's prayer.

My Father's Navy Watch Cap

11-19-10

I wear my father’s navy watch cap these days

when I go down to the pasture

on cold mornings

I knitted it for him early this year

He waited patiently for it

but I was otherwise engaged

-   a sweater for myself

-   a scarf for my sister in England

-   a neck warmer for my mother

taking precedence,

in line before his thick, navy watch cap

He waited patiently,

though I could hear his eyes glitter when we talked about it

a cozy hat

to cover his head

just like the one he had in the navy

When I finally finished it and

sent it down to him,

it was spring

and spring in Los Angeles is barely spring

in other regions

it is more like the long beginning of summer,

temperatures in the 70’s, as you know,

not much need for a thick, navy watch cap

knitted by your oldest daughter,

your biggest-tallest

And yet he wore it

proudly, I suppose,

when the moment required it

when the thermometer dipped

a bit low

and his balding pate felt a chill

He dug around in the basket of his scooter

and pulled out the hat

then tugged it snuggly over his head,

thinking, I hope,

of the love knit into each stitch

It was there waiting for me to take it home

when he died

in the basket of the lonely scooter

not even worn through one winter

his winter

an LA winter of sorts

These days when I don my mud-encrusted boots

and button up my flannel barn coat,

I also grab my father’s navy watch cap

and pull it on over my thick head of graying hair

like a hug

and the memory of our last conversation

and the words “I love you”

I want to tell you I have other hats

but this is the one that calls to me each morning

I open the door, pulling on my gloves

and think about the day’s list

-   what will occupy me

-   what I need to attend to

-   what takes precedence

and what will have to wait

And as winter approaches and fall fast becomes a memory

I tug my father’s navy watch cap down around my ears

and bring him with me to feed the animals

down in the pasture