The Slice: Old apparel seems to fit new outlook

Maybe it won’t happen.

But I’ve been wondering if I’ll see someone wearing my late father’s clothes. And I have to admit, it has changed the way I look at strangers.

Who knows if that will last.

Last Saturday, my wife and I stopped by my mom’s place and picked up a bunch of coats, jackets, shirts, sweaters, pants and hats that had belonged to my dad. It was my mother’s wish that they go to the needy.

So we filled the trunk and back seat of our car and headed to the North Side, where we were to meet a couple of women connected to a social service program I had heard about.

Actually, this process of donating my father’s things had started not long after he died in the fall of 2007. There were all sorts of shoes, some never worn. Then there were bags of sweatpants and undershirts. And so on and so forth, as my dad used to say.

But last Saturday’s load was the biggest batch of his belongings we had given away at one time.

Considering that this haul included a bounty of excellent winter apparel, we probably should have done it sooner. For one reason or another, I had been dragging my feet.

In the end, about the only thing we didn’t give away was his leather World War II bomber jacket.

Anyway, the ladies who received this stuff on behalf of their program seemed appreciative. Later, when I reported on the outing, my mother and I agreed that my dad would have wanted the clothes to go to someone who could use them.

So that was that.

Except it wasn’t.

I’ve been taking the bus home on weekday afternoons. And this week, as I waited at the STA Plaza, I found myself looking for my dad’s coats and sweaters.

Now, for all I know, none of that that stuff has even been handed out yet. Nor is there any guarantee that the recipients will be bus riders who go through downtown.

Still, I scanned the crowd. There’s no certainty that I would even recognize those clothes, of course. But you never know.

It’s funny, though. When you really scrutinize strangers, you observe things. You see worried expressions and vaguely scared eyes.

You see tired people who might never have owned a genuinely nice shirt or a sport coat that isn’t stained or ripped.

You stop looking past and through.

If I ever do notice some guy wearing something of my father’s, I won’t say anything. Wouldn’t want to embarrass anyone.

But I will be pleased to think my dad is helping someone.

At his best, he was always good at that.

•Today’s Slice question: If you were a late addition to the Obama cabinet, of what new department could you be secretary?