On The Edge of the Hankie Generation
Never heard of the Hankie Generation? Well now you have. You must know who I am referring to. It is the generation, like my father , who would not feel dressed without a hankie in their back pocket or in the breast pocket of their Sunday “best”. I am pretty sure this wasn’t a “guy” thing as much as a the insistence of a protective mother. It must be available for all the emergencies of life. My Dad always had a drawer full of hankies mostly white with an occasional red or blue bandana thrown in for less formal affairs.
Now that I think about it, except for the occasional cold or runny nose, what were these hankies used for.
This was from the time when men were not allowed to cry in public. I can’t recall seeing my Dad openly cry, except the night we were watching the news and we learned that his best friend , John, had been killed in an automobile wreck. I am sure he shed many tears over a life time, but not in front of me and probably not in front of anyone else.
What is very surprising to me is that I am an unofficial member of the “hankie generation” only because for most of my life I have received a package of hankies for Christmas from, guess who, my mother. I have enough ,some never used , to start a new trend of hankie carrying men. Very seldom do I use them except to clean my glasses or if I can’t find the Kleenex box.
In the last three years I have witnessed the weddings of all three sons. In all three instances I was able to find one of my Dad’s hankies to present to them as they walked down the aisle. Since all were very close to their grandfather, I am pretty sure the symbolic jester was felt in their heart. I know the tears and DNA had all been washed away, but the memory of a man , even one who wasn’t allowed to cry, I hope gave them permission to show emotion on a very emotion filled day.
The hankie may never make a big come back with our generation. It will for me always remind me of a generation past and all it meant to be a part of the “hankie generation”.