I have been reflecting on my father, my relationship with him when I was a young woman (he died in 1977), and wondering how to honor him with my current work. The only things I have of his are this handkerchief, and a navigator's pin (?) he wore during WWII, when he was stationed on an aircraft carrier.
My mother had done her best to raise me to be a good housewife in the '60s, so I was in charge of ironing and pressing all of my dad's shirts and his endless stack of freshly laundered hankies when I was ten or eleven. I felt so abused at the time, thought that was my mom's job, not mine. Funny the way an old, threadbare hankie can bring back such vivid memories.