A Helmet Full of Embarassament

Is there anyone out there that hasn’t been so embarrassed by your family that you didn’t want to admit you were related to them? My parents were normally pretty good with us kids, trying hard not to humiliate us unduly. Occasionally, however, my father would provide an exercise in humility by his actions. It was one of those lessons that has developed into a treasured memory for me.

I spent my teenage years on a beautiful farm in rural Maine. Our community was small and included a cliquish high school that I attended with just over 300 other students. When a school is that small, your image and placement in the teenage food chain means everything. I wasn’t at the top but I had successfully managed to secure an invisible middle position amongst my peers.

One fall evening my father informed me we would be taking my visiting grandparents to the Sandwich Fair. I had often heard of this fair -- a single-day event that had been held in Sandwich, New Hampshire annually for well over one hundred years. New England fairs are wonderful and this one was the king of them all.

From the moment Dad walked out of his room on the day of the fair, I knew I was in trouble. "Um, Dad, is that what you are wearing?"

His typical father response was "What is wrong with what I am wearing?"

Well, nothing, if you call above-the-ankle, green and orange checkered pants in a poly-blend, a golf shirt of unidentifiable fabric and color, black socks and white tennis shoes the perfect outfit.

"Well, Dad, it is just that I like you so much in your Levi's."

That wasn't good enough for him. I suspect he knew I was horrified by his appearance and, knowing his reaction, I realized this set his resolve to wear the hideous outfit. I was doomed; there was no changing his mind. This was a man that my friends knew on sight by his custom suits and silk ties. Today he was leaving the house looking like the village idiot. My only consolation was the fact that Sandwich was three hours from home and I would (hopefully) not run into anyone I knew.

Like any autumn day in New England, it was cool out when we arrived at the fairgrounds. Dad popped the trunk to grab the sweaters and jackets. This was the moment he saw IT! IT was a pith helmet my father had picked up somewhere in his travels. IT was horrendous, the kind of hat you would expect to see Dr. Livingstone wearing in the jungles of Africa – a metal-covered salad bowl enhanced with a dingy canvas exterior and brim. A smile spread across my father's face as a look of terror overtook on mine.

"Oh Dad, no Dad, please, no."

My father's smile spread to my mother and my grandparents. This man was really going to wear that thing! Noticing my further consternation, he pulled up his pants to just below his rib cage, tightened his white faux leather belt and then adopted the stupidest look on his face one could imagine. He walked off in a slanted gait, my family surrounding him as they attempted to contain their laughter. I hung back trying to comfort myself with the thought I would run into no one I knew.

The day proceeded and I relaxed, caught up in the fun of the fair. Late in the afternoon there was a small "pig rodeo" that my grandmother wanted to see. It was a cute little competition and my grandmother was totally enthralled in the event. So much so she didn't notice the fight brewing behind her between two men who were appeared to be a few genes short of normal. Suddenly my grandmother was on the ground underneath the combatants. My father instantly swooped in rescuing her and took control until the police arrived.

The commotion drew a great deal of attention and the crowd swelled quickly. As I ran to my Dad and my grandmother, I looked up to notice a dozen teens, the entire group of cool kids from my school. They were all gawking, checking out what was going on. First they noticed my grandmother, tousled and shaken, then me, and then my father with his chest high checkered pants, black socks, puke mustard shirt and pith helmet. I knew I could die right then because my teenage social life was over forever.

Looking back, as I said, that day is of my most cherished memories. In the end it came down to what was more important, my family or my image. I only slightly hesitated. I stepped next to my grandmother and reached over to my father, removing the cockeyed hat from his head. I placed the hat under my arm and wiped the blood and dirt from Dad’s face. My choice made, we all walked arm in arm to the first aid station.