By Butch Freedman
I’ve had one for 70 years, though there’s been a few iterations. It’s the scarlet red color that I like. I associate it with being a kid, and with my dad. I still use it now, though—especially when it’s cold and rainy out. Some people recognize it for what it is, others don’t notice. These days some people jump to the conclusion it’s a political thing, and react according to their particular bent. That almost caused me to stop wearing it. I even went on line and bought a new tan one. But that one never felt or looked right, and I went back to the original. Let people think what they want. Or maybe take a closer look.
Men are more likely to comment on it, especially if they were born on the east coast. Some don’t like it for that same reason—territorial, you know. They’ve probably got their own just like it, only different. But why would you react one way or another to an everyday sort of thing like this? Guys can be like that; well, some women too. I try not to take it personally.
It’s pretty scrunched up these days; bent out of shape, and the color has faded to pink in places. It still fits though, guess some of my body parts haven’t shrunk. To me, in my older years, that old thing has become a totem, a comfort from a previous era when life was simpler and a day could be whiled away at Connie Mack Stadium with my father and brother. They each had one too, same as the one I still wear. It reminds me of where I come from.
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