Saturday’s event for Tunnel to Towers had young Marines in uniform there who volunteered and presented Colors. I was distracted by one simple thought; I know what the fabric feels like.
They were wearing Charlies which consist of dark green wool trousers and a short-sleeved khaki shirt (or blouse as they call it) with the same trouser-color chevrons on the side of their sleeves. (They were PFCs and Lance Corporals.)
Roger didn’t wear Charlies much because being a grunt, he was usually in cammies, but I am aware of the feel of the fabric.
I wonder if the focus of my observation was the heavy and loud disconnect I have from the USMC now. I don’t know anyone who serves currently because they’re all retired, but in years past, I would have hugged many of my friends who wore the uniform, and of course I would have held onto Roger’s arm had he been wearing one.
There’s a distinct rough softness to the uniforms. The fabric is the highest of quality in each of the different types and it triggers my memories. It reminds me of special events Roger would attend. He would leave the house looking so handsome and although he wasn’t one to love attention, he knew he looked good.
I think my distraction on Saturday was due to the fact that I miss the intimacy I had with the uniforms, the memories that are glued to each one he wore, the right to touch the fabric. I miss pressing the thick and hearty cammies for him with a steamy iron and feeling the soft wool of the dress blues jacket.
It’s just another one of those things I miss, love persevering I suppose.