An ode to my Grandpa, quite the fashion plate.
A Dapper Dan
It was a gentler time, not carefree.
People took time to dress with dignity.
Fastening tiny fabric buttons, such a bore.
Lacing corsets, long gloves, petticoats,
making whoopee in a closet; a real chore.
I remember visiting my Grandma's attic.
Dress models were kept her perfect size.
Granny didn't have to try clothes on,
unless she indulged in crumpets and cake
or had a bun in the oven to alter her size.
Hats for men and women were the rage.
They matched each suit and dress,
fur trimmed winter coats and polished shoes.
Dressing up from inside out was a test.
Some money meant clothes, no one wore rags.
My Grandfather indulged in hats.
He was quite the catch in his day,
at twenty-six; handsome, witty and sharp.
At ninety-five, some teeth were gone.
But his hat had a feather. Game on!
When he died, we cleaned out closets.
One devoted to hats, in zippered plastic bags.
He thought men had gone soft and lazy.
No spring to their step, no fashion sense.
You know, I believe he was right.
By Kathie Stehr