Dad’s Bomber Jacket

It’s got style and class.  It has a shiny black leather exterior, a sturdy zipper, knit cuffs, and a thick pile-lined collar. The curious thing is Dad’s old bomber jacket simply isn’t comfortable for me to wear.

Not that I don’t like it. Far from it. The inside pile lining is soft, and the quilted lining in the sleeves will help keep you warm in chilly weather.

When I put it on, however, it’s not like pulling on favorite jacket. It doesn’t feel like a second skin. It feels more like suit jacket to me. Leather doesn’t really stretch or give.

The cargo pockets don’t work for me, and it has no inside pockets to hold my sunglasses. I need an inside pocket. I tried sliding my sunglasses into a cargo pocket, but the leather is so stiffly protective, I thought my glasses would be bent.

Dad got the jacket as a gift from Cooper Leather in Peddler's Village in the mid-1980s. He had a certain savoir faire, and looked especially dashing when he wore it. I was envious of the jacket. I loved the idea of it. I wanted one too, but I got what I needed when I asked for a similar jacket – a dress coat. I couldn’t exactly wear my comfortable old army/navy surplus pea coat to job interviews.

The bomber jacket hung in the back of the hall closet in Mom’s house for some time after Dad passed away in 1993. I don’t know if she ever wore it. I asked one day if I could have it and she said yes. The jacket has resided, nearly unworn, in our townhouse since.

When I was cleaning out my closet this past spring, I decided it was time to let it go. Maybe someone else could use it. My brother and sister probably wouldn’t want the bomber. I figured I would donate the jacket.

I emailed my brother, Cameron, and included the size - 44. He thanked me for the offer but said no thank you. He added he never could fit into the jacket and really couldn’t fit into it now. Too many beers have passed, it seems.

I also sent a message to my sister, Candace, expecting a “no” there, too. She seems to be the least sentimental of us three, and I’m not saying that’s a bad thing.

Surprisingly, she said yes. Candace hoped her daughter, Alexa, might like it enough to wear it. If she didn’t, perhaps her young son, Chase Preston, might want to wear it when he’s old enough.

A jacket like that is meant to be worn. I’m pleased the bomber jacket is staying in the family, at least for now.

Things feel like they came around full circle here. The old leather bomber jacket has a new mission in life, which is the way it ought to be.

When Migraines Attack

I found this headline on Yahoo on Friday, August 20th:

"Viking's Harvin has migraine attack at practice"

I empathize with Percy Harvin, but migraine attacks aren’t really attacks. Like heart attacks, the word “attack” is somewhat misleading. Migraines, however, can feel as though they’re attacking you. I should know. I've been a migraine sufferer for decades.

Sometimes I feel like a red hot fire place poker is being driven into your skull time and again. Just as people enjoying the last of a dying fire will determinedly poke through its ashes hoping to stir up stubborn embers hiding from the light, I get jabs of burning, searing pain above my left eye or just behind my right eye.

Sometimes I feel as though a sharp stick or overgrown nail the size of a railroad spike is being enthusiastically jammed into one or both eyes until it bursts through the other side of your head like a triple-digit rally on the DOW and playfully turns around to wink at you through the veil of agony.

Migraine sufferers or migraineurs are not being attacked, but it certainly can feel that way.