“Don We Now Our gay Apparel…”: My Father’s Christmas Ensemble
It’s the holiday season and many of us are “donning our gay apparel,” rummaging through the attic to find the box of winter clothes which holds the ugly Christmas sweater, or shopping for the perfect Christmas ensemble to wear to a party.
My dad, Roy, wore the same outfit on Christmas for nearly half a century. Each winter break, I looked forward to seeing this annual ensemble materialize as it heralded the arrival of the holiday season. He wore a traditional Norwegian woolen cardigan, a gift from Mom’s aunt, Tante Kari, from Norway. My parents married on Christmas Eve in 1957 in Tacoma, Washington, so I imagine Dad received the sweater in a package from Oslo on his first Christmas as a newlywed. Tante Kari’s thoughtful gesture, no doubt, was a symbol of Dad’s acceptance into Mom’s Norwegian family. The cardigan was hand-knit in the traditional Scandinavian style. It was black with a rounded yoke pattern in colors of red, green, yellow, and white. Six ornate silver buttons adorned the front. In my memory, it smelled of Dad: freshly cut wood and Mennen aftershave.
To complement the sweater, my father donned a pair of flared tartan slacks in black, red, green, white, and yellow. I never saw them make an appearance any other time than Christmas, which was probably a good thing. But oh, weren’t they festive? That ensemble was better and more predictable than a Christmas card.
During cold, rainy Pacific Northwest Christmas vacations, Dad and I would watch old movies together. He lounged in his black leather recliner, wearing his cardigan and tartan pants. Three dozing miniature dachshunds snuggled up on his lap and I curled up in a chair next to him. I learned all the names of movie stars from the golden age of Hollywood from my father. We’d watch Rodgers and Hammerstein musicals, old black-and-white movies, and countless hours of the BBC series Pride and Prejudice and Anne of Green Gables.
Every Christmas Eve, without fail, we’d sit together as a family and watch the 1946 film It’s a Wonderful Life, shedding tears over the poignant interaction of George Bailey and his guardian angel, Clarence. My father was a kind and gentle soul, perhaps a bit melancholy as he reflected upon the past and pondered the future, very similar to the character of George Bailey, played by Jimmy Stewart. Often, I felt as if we were actually watching Dad’s life unfold before us in the movie.
Mom didn’t sit and watch with us; she couldn’t sit still. She was always bustling about in the kitchen, reading newspapers to check the price of land or keeping up with local and national news. She could also be found at the Singer sewing machine creating something artfully designed. There wasn’t anything Mom couldn’t make. Her mantra was, “Oh, I can make that! We’ll do it together; it’ll be fun!” It was always I can make that, build that, paint that, draw that, and create that…and she really could, too, better than anyone imagined. She made that Singer hum on those cold winter nights, especially around the holidays.
Though many Christmases have passed since father died, I only need to close my eyes today to see him standing by the Christmas tree; tall and lean, long Roman nose, big toothy smile, wearing his trademark Norwegian cardigan and tartan pants. Three contented dachshunds surely would be sitting with tails wagging, at his feet. I can hear the happy hum of the sewing machine and my sister playing carols on the grand piano. And perhaps, if I listen closely, I can even hear Clarence, the guardian angel, gently remind George Bailey, “Strange, isn’t it? Each man’s life touches so many other lives. When he isn’t around, he leaves an awful hole, doesn’t he?”
*Published in The Facts Brazos Living on December 10, 2025
