Fashion Sense...

Greetings and salutations,

Have you ever heard the saying by H. Jackson Brown, Jr., "Our character is what we do when we think no one is looking."? Papa has bestowed that enlightening tidbit upon me, and I have taken in to heart. What I have found, especially at my diminutive stature, is that I can occasionally gain some insight into a person's character as Mr. Brown, Jr. suggested. With ninja-like stealthiness (minus the katana sword and excessively drab and dark garb), I often linger in the recesses to see how folks behave when it seems that no one else is peering. It just so happens that I was engaged in this past time the other day when my reconnaissance mission sparked another conversation with Papa.

While Papa was downloading the photographic evidence of our Easter celebration, I peered around the corner of Mama's office. Imagine my surprise when I actually heard Papa laughing. And this revelry was not merely a chortle but instead a abdomen-distending, calorie-burning raucous laughter. Admittedly, this did not reveal a tremendous amount about Papa's character, but it did highlight the importance of joviality. But that was not sufficient, as I was curious as to the cause of said guffawing. I politely made my presence known by rolling my cookie jar toward Papa. He subsequently put me upon his lap and began to reveal the source of his hooting.

Ol' Papa pulled up the photograph that you see at the top of today's blog entry. Before it could even be loaded Papa was laughing again. To be honest, I was a little insulted prima fascia. Hey, I know that I may not be the absolute most adorable, handsome baby in the entire world (although Mama and Papa make that argument frequently), but mocking my photographic qualities with laughter stings. Papa was quick to allay my concerns, indicating that he was actually chuckling at himself.

In a manner eerily similar to the esteemed Mr. Blackwell, Papa began to critique my wardrobe. The results were quite favorable, actually. He noted the superb use of pastels in the Easter context. Compliments were strewn about regarding the eloquent use of khaki pants with faint white pinstripping. And the pièce de résistance were the brilliantly matched socks, a carbon copy of the sweater draped over my torso. Perhaps his only significant criticism involved my chose of footwear. However, as Papa says, if it does not say Nike one will lose marks by default.

It was actually the hosiery that had Papa in stitches. As indicated above, he thought the socks were a fine touch (Sweater and socks pictured above after Easter dinner. Assuredly you are asking, where are the dapper khaki pants referenced previously? Well, of course everyone knows that post-Easter dinner one must let things hang out. Mama did such a marvelous job with our Easter meal this year that comfy pants were a necessity.). In any event, it turns out that he was laughing at an incident that has scarred Papa for life. It was the year 1989 of our Lord. At that time Papa was at the impressionable age of 7, old enough to dress himself (obviously) but still subjected to his mother's persistent desires dress him up like a Ken doll.

The ensemble that Papa was "forced" into for that year's Easter festivities is immortalized in photographs still utilized to mock him to this date. Those pictures have not been included in today's blog at my discretion. I love Papa; he need not be subjected to the eternal harassment that would ensue with the posting of said pictures on the Internet. But please allow me to paint the visual imagery for you. Conjure up a navy blue, long-sleeve sweater with a red and white diamond pattern accented by white (yes, white) dress shorts. And then you have the matching socks. Just as I donned, twenty years my senior Papa to displayed such fashion mastery. Here is the critical difference: Papa's socks were actually his mother's! Top that off with a pair of hush puppies and the outfit was complete...almost complete. The mental image is not complete without picturing Papa's brushed-back, spiked hair. What a look!

Folks, I cannot fabricate this imagery. After seeing the tangible proof, I can completely understand Papa's hysterical laughter at my own outfit. He was careful to explain that it was not a reflection of my own attire; he thought that my eloquence was brilliant. My own fashion sense is certainly not something that will result in the apparent trauma that Papa has suffered. In the end, this trip down memory late revealed to me that when no one is looking Papa still loves to laugh.

Carter

Someone in heaven is always looking after me...