My Jacket & Me

I have two favorite pieces of outerwear. One is my trademark charcoal-grey cap (worn backwards for the beret effect), and the other, an American-made black military-style field jacket. In spite of a few bumps, scrapes, and crude alterations, the coat has held up incredibly well. I don’t quite remember where I bought it, but I do remember why I bought it.

I prefer not to cart around a lot of stuff. Some people love to lug around large satchels or brief cases filled with whatever it is they may need, or think they may need, during the course of their day. I travel lighter than most, but still heavier than others, and I do need to keep my wallet, keys, pocket knife, a pen, cell phone, gloves, and maybe a book with me wherever I go. The field jacket has great pockets. I can place all the abovementioned articles into one or two of them, and still have room for a flask of bourbon, a few pieces of mail, my beret, and a sandwich. I can wake up, grab the jacket, zip it up, turn up the collar, and head directly out the door, sans luggage, ready for whatever life may deliver.

(Religious Jewish men, during prayer service each day, recite the blessing “Thank you God, for not making me a woman.” There exist dozens of lame explanations as to why this blessing should not be viewed as the most overtly chauvinistic statement ever made. These range from ‘men not having to experience the menstruation’, to the joy of having more Torah commandments to fulfill than their female co-religionists. I really don’t care about their rationale at all. When I see a woman hauling around a huge purse or bag, having to carry all of the necessary and possibly necessary items that a woman may require, I am reminded of that blessing. Maybe we can gender-neutralize it a bit to read “Thank you God, for not making me a pack-mule.”)

The jacket has long since been more than just something to wear. It’s become a trusted companion and maybe even a security blanket of sorts. It’s a comfortable, familiar sight I unconsciously greet every morning, and whether draped over the stationary bike or the back of my office chair, it gets noticed. Whenever I need something or have misplaced small items moved from here to somewhere else, I always consult the pockets of that jacket before looking anywhere else. I approach any repairs to my beloved coat with the seriousness of a surgeon, and any threat to its well-being is met with ‘mother-bear-to-her-cub’ defenses. Do not mess with my coat.

The jacket doesn’t get worn as often as I’d like it to, since it is not really warm enough for cold Michigan winters and too warm for any summer. I guess you could say the same about any coat. I wear a windbreaker underneath and that stops the bitter wind fairly well. There is a special lining sold for those jackets, but it isn’t quite as warm or efficient as the lined windbreaker. I prefer to dress in layers anyhow. Heavy coats make me feel trapped and restricted by their weightiness.

Temptation has led me out shopping for a newer coat once or twice in the past 20 years, and although I see many styles I like, I can’t help but feel all fuzzy-wuzzy and sentimental about the coat I already have, especially when considering its carrying capability and durable quality. I like solid colors that are uncluttered by logos, decals, or striping. If I am purchasing an item that has the manufacturer’s logo or name sewn into it, I kind of feel that he should be paying me for advertising his product! Had the patriarch Jacob offered me a ‘coat-of-many-colors’ I would have refused it saying, “Sorry, Dad. It’s not my style.”

This jacket mimics my self-image. I tells you who I am and what I aspire to be; non-conformist, reasonably subversive, and yet, at the same time, determined and practical-minded. My jacket is plain and straightforward. It is dependable and useful. There is nothing fancy to it. You can ball it up in the corner, throw it on the floor, or leave it in the car, and when unfolded it always returns to its former self. It is me.

Well, almost. I’m not machine washable.