Dad’s Handkerchiefs
During the cold winter mornings, accompanied by a persistent cold and a nose that wouldn’t quit running, a sense of panic would often set in. It was only after I had reached school that I would, unfortunately, realize — in the flurry of locating my tie, belt, and socks, the vital handkerchief had been left behind. At that instance, my dad would come to my rescue and hand me one of his big white handkerchiefs. After getting it, I would suddenly be at ease, I had the handkerchief to wipe my wet hands or runny nose, and I did not need to face discomfort anymore. I would happily go about my day with the handkerchief tucked in my belt (a questionable fashion choice).
This became a daily occurrence and in some time, I no longer cared enough to remember to take a handkerchief. I was assured of the fact that my dad had an unending supply of handkerchiefs in his pocket. I stopped using the dainty floral handkerchiefs which were deemed appropriate for women. They just did not provide the same level of comfort as the expansive and soft handkerchiefs that my dad handed me. Even when Dad was not around to actually give me his handkerchief, I knew I could always depend on getting one from the huge pile of neatly folded handkerchiefs in his closet.
Over the years, his collection of handkerchiefs consistently brought a deep sense of comfort. As I packed my bags to study abroad, my dad’s handkerchiefs became a crucial item on my checklist. They provided an unexplainable sense of solace, like a security blanket for my anxieties and uncertainties. These handkerchiefs quietly reminded me of my relationship with my father. They symbolized trust, reliability, and comfort. With these handkerchiefs, I could simply wipe away my worries and gather the strength to once again confront the challenges that the world had in store for me.
