The Brilliance of Buttons

Sometimes I feel like I should write one of those posters that says, “All I Need To Know In Life, I Learned From My Granddad.”

He always wore a button-up shirt. My grandfather, that is. He always wore a long sleeve, button-up shirt.

Twills, cottons, and in the winter, flannel.

I can only recall three situations when he wore something different- funerals, church, and weddings. And at each of those events, he had a button-up dress shirt on under his jacket.

This morning as I struggled to get out of my pjs (a rather frequent battle of mine in the winter), I thought about Granddad and his shirts.

The shirts themselves didn’t mean much to me. I’d rather steal his plain white undershirts to use as nightgowns. But the act of him wearing the shirts is what I remember fondly.

Because no matter what he faced each day- gardening, fishing, changing a tire, grocery shopping, or just sitting at the kitchen table and talking with my grandmother- he felt the day was worth getting dressed for.

Not dressed in ratty old clothes, although he’d probably call them that, but dressed in a shirt that required buttoning. A shirt that took a little bit of effort.

I’m certain that he isn’t the only man his age that lived, and dressed, the same way. But he was the only man I knew who did.

I miss him, and his gentlemanly style, terribly.

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One Comment to “The Brilliance of Buttons”


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