Dad's Sweater, Glasses and Woody Allen

When I was about 12, I was into Woody Allen's style. The glasses, the knitted sweater — the whole deal. I can't say I'd actually watched his films. It was more that ironic image in itself. Everybody knew about it, even at school.

And Dad had a sweater that looked a lot like Woody's. But he wouldn't let me have it. First, the sweater was too big for me. But oversized was exactly what I wanted. Dad didn't get it. And second, he thought I'd get it dirty or tear it when I went out with my friends. Dad also had glasses that were the spitting image of Woody Allen's. And he wouldn't give me those either. He wore them himself. It was the frames I liked. I didn't need the lenses.

My friends and I had an important meet-up planned. A really cool event. I badly wanted to show up in full Woody style.

Dad was sitting on the toilet. He liked to lock himself in there for half an hour with a book or his phone. And I needed to get ready already. I went up to the door, knocked and asked:

— Dad, can I take that sweater of yours that looks like Woody's, and pop the lenses out of your glasses? Because I need to go out with my friends.

Dad didn't answer. And I decided that if he was keeping quiet, that meant yes. Otherwise he'd have said something. Logical, right?

So I pulled Dad's sweater out of the wardrobe. Mind you, while I was looking for it I turned several shelves upside down. Whatever fell on the floor, I didn't put back. I was in a hurry. And I started pushing the lenses out of the glasses with my fingers. But that turned out not to be so easy, and I was drenched in sweat. I pictured the scene: Dad comes out of the toilet, the wardrobe ransacked, clothes all over the floor, and on the table two lenses from his glasses covered in sweaty fingerprints. Well, what was I supposed to do, I couldn't wait for him, I had to go out. The frames really suited me. I ended up with a look that was kind of Woody-ish. And I happily ran off to the meet-up.

I came back late in the evening. I thought my parents were already asleep. But Dad wasn't. No, he didn't yell. He's a very calm person. He never shouts. Never loses his temper. He takes everything philosophically.

He looked at me. For a long time. In silence. Then he said:

— You can keep the sweater. Put the lenses back in.

And that was it. No yelling. No lecture. No “I told you so.”

I still remember that sweater. And those glasses. Without lenses.