Yesterday I was going through some old jewellery and I came upon my father’s cufflinks.
For as long as I can remember he wore the same cufflinks. I do not remember if they were a gift from my mother or not, but when they were not in use they were kept in the little blue box from Birks. There is a tiepin that went with them and he always wore that too but I remember the cufflinks much more than the tiepin. At Christmas, it was always more difficult to choose a gift, usually socks or hankies because cufflinks were not an option.
Every morning he would dress for work. Always a pinstripe suit blue or grey never black or brown. I think they called them banker suits, however, he was not a banker. His white shirts always neatly ironed and folded by my mother with their starched colours and cuffs were always neatly arranged in his shirt drawer. Each morning a fresh shirt would be taken from the drawer and each week they would be washed, starched, ironed, folded and placed neatly back in their place for the next week.
He always wore boxer shorts and knee-high socks. Sometimes they were argyle but always conservative. His ties were striped or with small paisley dots. They were most often red and blue, or blue on blue, never loud, or wild. His shoes were either black Oxfords or burgundy brogues.
Each morning he would shower and dress in his “uniform”. His breakfast quite often consisted of a soft-boiled egg in which he would put a pat of butter and a generous amount of salt and pepper. Toast was cut into strips and dipped in the egg yolk. The white part was then scooped out with a spoon.
He always had tea. My father was not a coffee drinker. Weak tea, with sugar and milk. One teabag made a whole pot.
His curly hair was like his mother’s, strawberry blond, and his eyes were a pale watery blue. He had rather wild eyebrows, but being light they did not show too much. That was the same for his moustache. He wore one for years. One morning he shaved half of it off and it took my sister and I all morning to notice it. Granted were at the cottage and more anxious to go out and play than notice his antics.
After breakfast, he would prepare for work. In summer it was just pick up the briefcase and go but in winter he donned an overcoat and a fedora, complete with a small feather, put galoshes, either the kind that pulled on over your shoes or taller ones when the weather was more inclement.
He left always at the same time. When I was small he worked in downtown Toronto but once I was in high school we had moved to the suburbs and he worked closer to home.
Most mornings he dropped us off at school as it was near his office. We would make our own way home in the afternoon as he never arrived before 5:30 or 6:00 pm.
Supper was almost ready when he would arrive, but he always had time to lie on his bed and read the afternoon “Toronto Telegram”. Often if I went in to call him for supper, he had fallen asleep, the newspaper over his face.
Summer evenings were often spent in the garden. He loved to work in the flowerbeds. Just like his drawers, everything was always weeded and tidy. The grass was always kept at a certain length and edged around the beds. I remember a special lawnmower he owned with one wheel for cutting around the flower beds.
I guess looking back he was rather obsessive compulsive, but at the time we just thought he was neat and tidy to a fault.
Dad also loved to build things. When my sister and I were small he built us a playhouse in the backyard. We called it “The Roost”. We played in that house as long as we lived there. First as children and later as a place to escape and be on our own. Years later I took my husband back to the street I grew up on. The couple that were there invited us in to see the house. It was still much the same but smaller than I remembered it. The playhouse was still at the end of the backyard but was now used as a tool shed.
When I was five, the family bought property near Minden, Ontario and we had a cottage built. The exterior was done by a local tradesman, but the inside from plumbing and electricity and all the walls, cupboards and finishing was all done by my father.
My father was just as fastidious about his cars. I remember, in particular, a 1957 Buick sedan, two-tone white and grey with a red stripe separating the colours. Perhaps I remember it because of the long weekend trips to the cottage. I always had to get out and walk part of the way as I got carsick and needed the fresh air. That car was always kept polished and clean. The wide whitewall tires scrubbed each weekend when he washed the car to look just right.
My father had come from humble beginnings, supporting his mother from a young age. He started in the mailroom of a company when he left school to support his parents and younger brother and through hard work climbed the corporate ladder to become a company executive.
He was a proud man who strove for perfection in himself and his family, never giving us the easy way out but demanding that we always give it our utmost. In my younger years, I did not always think this was fair but today I appreciate all he did for me and am the better for it.
When my father passed away in 1978 my mother offered the cufflinks and tiepin to my sister because she had the same initials. She declined. I jumped at the chance to have them as they stir up old memories. I keep them in the same blue box he kept them in. While I do not look at them often I do on occasion, just like yesterday.