ABSTRACT
If I didn't have the old photographs to prove it, I would never have believed my father donned the best fashions of his times. By the time I knew him, he was pragmatic about such things, and made sure his children valued the frugality he modeled for us. “See these shoes? I've had them for thirty years. Thirty years! And look what perfect condition they are in. Perfect! They don't look a day old!” he'd tell his children. We'd grit our teeth, mutter, “Yes, daddy,” and exchange knowing glances with each other. To us, the shoes did look thirty years old. Although they were well cared for and in perfect condition, there was no getting away from their age. They were dated. Couldn't he tell?
