Once as white as snow
Now stained with blood and sweat,
Butcher’s string for ties,
The hemline frayed like net.
Butcher’s hat crisply starched
High above his brow;
A proud workingman--
I can see him even now.
Grandpa was a butcher. I remember him coming home from work with his white butcher's hat. I'm sure he usually left his work apron at work, but he had a few at home that Grandma would sometimes wear when she cooked. I didn't realize until last Christmas that Mom had one of his aprons. Here's a picture of me modeling it.
Grandpa died when I was 9 years old, so I only have snapshots of memories of him -- the smell of chewing tobacco, the image of him sitting in his chair on Grandma's front porch, the gruff sound of his voice (never mean, just deep and kind of gravelly).
Mom doesn't collect or display lots of family mementos like that apron, so I was pleasantly surprised to see she had it. I was glad to have the opportunity to place that piece of family history over my neck and pose for posterity.
Next step: Find a picture of Grandpa in that apron . . .
UPDATE: Mom sent a picture! My Grandpa is on the far right in the white cap.