Behind the Hoop: My Grandfather's WWII Army Jacket

Today’s story is about my maternal grandfather’s army jacket from World War II. It used to hang in my grandparent’s basement, in a cedar-lined closet. I remember opening that closet door sometimes, where all the winter coats were stored and taking deep gulping breaths of the smell of cedar, old wool, and cigar smoke. The smell of my grandfather.

At some point in time, he gave me the army jacket. I don’t know how that happened-how it was given to me. I do remember having it in my closet when I was teenager and remembering a vague story of grandfather telling me he was wearing the jacket the day he saw Mussolini hanging in a piazza in Milan. He would have only been in his late teens as he went to war when he was quite young. I have no idea if I really heard that story. I imagine something was said as I don’t remember hearing the details of the death in school.

Gruesome historical context aside, my grandfather’s army jacket brings back strong high school memories for me. In my sophomore year of high school, I decided the jacket was a unique fashion statement and began wearing it as a coat on the cool, fall nights in Southern California. I especially remember wearing it to high school football games and to the dances afterwards.

After the game, we would line up outside the gym and wait to be let into the school dance. There was always an air of excitement-the smell of hormones, Obsession, and Drakkar Noir floating along the line of high school students. The anticipation of dancing and flirting and experimenting with time away from the watchful eye of our parents. I would snuggle into my grandfather’s army jacket, filled with both excitement and terror. Worrying that I would be end up a wallflower. Somehow it always felt like my grandfather was hugging me, protecting me. It was my security blanket for my teen years. The thought also wasn’t lost on me that my grandfather wore the jacket when he was only a few years older than me and worried about staying alive, not who he would ask to dance. It put my worries in perspective.

I was wearing my grandfather’s army jacket the night I was standing in line with my first real boyfriend and his best friend. The three of us did everything together. We spent many afternoons afterschool, at Rhino Records, pouring over albums. The boys loved Depeche Mode, ABC, and Soft Cell and introduced me to the music that would become the soundtrack of my teens. We would spend hours looking for 12” recordings of our favorite songs.

On this night, as we stood in line for the school dance, my boyfriend’s best friend got down on his knee front of me and sang All of My Heart. He was a very tall 6’3” to my 5’1” and it was a joke that we were same height when he was on his knees. He got up, laughing it off too.

A few months later, my boyfriend and I broke-up and his best friend moved in within hours and asked me to the Christmas formal. He later admitted that, the night he sang to me, he was really trying to tell me he had a crush on me. Why I didn’t figure that out at the time is beyond me, especially if you listen to the lyrics. That boy was my first real love. We dated for nine months and separated amicably.

I still have the army jacket. It hangs in the back of my closet. Somehow, I think it still smells of my grandfather mixed with perfume. I doubt it really does. I think it likely smells like old wool and my brain just inserts the layered scent memories for me. The memories of my beloved grandfather and my first love. A jacket that went from seeing the horrors of war to the innocence of young love. A jacket I will allow my daughter to wear one day in the hopes that she is wearing it the night a boy, shyly, speaks of love to her.

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This story is part of my "Behind the Hoop" series, a collection of textile artwork I created with the stories that inspired the work.

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