Rae's Manspiration thread and Kari's memories of time spent with her Dad inspired this thread, as well as Angie's post earlier about her Dad's style.

I'm curious about your memories of childhood with Dad. What did you think of his style? Did you like to ape him? (Especially interesting for opposite-gender children, ie daughters, but also interesting how the boys might have felt NOT dressing like Dad --- as an only child, I've always wondered about this.)

And what were your favourite activities to share? What were his interests or abilities that you think might continue to inspire you in your daily work, your own interests, and perhaps even your style?

My father, like Kari's, is an engineer by training --- except this one decided to use his training to repair an old sewing machine because he got bored one summer, on leave from his seafaring job. Machine renewed, he decided he may as well test it was really sorted --- so he then exercised his superior line-drawing skills to teach himself to cut patterns and sew... until my mother had more evening gowns than she knew what to do with!

Like his father before him, he bucked tradition to insert himself into the kitchens, traditionally considered a women's domain except for the priests and professional cooks, and ended up teaching the whole extended family to follow foreign recipe books, use exotic ingredients, bake in an electric oven and make leavened breads.

He taught me to train a telescope on the stars and a microscope on slides of leaf slices (he had a talent for slides) and droplets of blood. And when he was bored and far from his beloved sewing machine, he made me little crochet caps and dresses and shawls, as well as hooking lace for my mother's petticoats! Or help me build a slide projector or a step-down voltage converter. Once he left the seagoing life behind for good, our evenings at home were often spent with Mum, Dad and I stationed at three corners of a cross-stitch or florentine-stitch rug or throw...

I still love the screen-printed 70s-style silk shirts that he no longer wears. This may be why I prefer a softer rather than a crisper button-down, and his finickiness about collars means I will often prefer NO collars to one not just-so. I wish I could fit into his tweed overcoat and still covet his spectacles that I kept stealing away as a tot. Trousers were the one thing he would not even try to sew after a few attempts, because he said the failures were too frustrating with this one garment --- you just can't hide the imperfections. It took decades for me to get him to try on a pair of jeans, let alone bring one home instead of his custom-tailored wool-blend pants. But he bought me the most fashion-forward shoes.

While I made my peace for years with ready-to-wear that doesn't sit quite right, I'm happy that YLF has nudged me to be more discerning again. Now, every so often I look at pants on the hanger or a shirt in the mirror while his slow, careful critiques play through my head: That crease doesn't fall straight; is the grain lying wrong? Are those seam allowances too meagre? Is the button sewn too tight and in danger of popping off? Is the raw edge precariously finished, or the zipper too stiff or fragile for this weight of cloth? Why on earth did they not use a properly matched thread colour? Where's that extra button, or should we change the lot?

Pity he didn't manage to teach me sewing and crochet and as much electrical work as he might have. But while my love of cooking may be owed more to growing up in the huge multi-room kitchens with my grandmother, mother and aunts, my style of cooking --- more exotics, lots of baking and other exotic techniques, early adoption of the new (microwave ovens) and different (foreign products and cuisines) --- is heavily influenced by my father. That I consider bean burgers a comfort food is thanks to the lunch he packed for me when I was at university or still living at home while I worked at my first job. I got my coffee habit from him too. And he certainly taught me to assess fabrics and tailoring rather well. Unfortunately, I don't have his steady hands, so my art and sewing skills aren't as good. But my mother continues to insist that I inherited his fussiness over colour and fabric 'feel' (hand), and even if I gave up on retail fit for a bit, I never did compromise when he was doing the tailoring!

His fingers are less nimble these days as he ages, and copes with the aftereffects of a stroke and with cataracts --- but he's still the one bringing home the fish (if not the bacon) and dishing up dinner, sewing blouses for my mother while they bicker over the colour combination (he's on Teams High Contrast and Pattern Mixing, she's Matchy-Matchy with a Vengeance!), and telling the plumber and the electrician how to do their jobs.

Rae, Kari, Angie --- Thanks for reminding me to remember him today!

Now I want to hear everyone else's stories!