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<p>WILKES-BARRE &#8212; Labor Day signals the end of summer, the return to school, the absolute ceasing of wearing white and the beginning of Fantasy Football.</p><p>Back in the day, September&#8217;s arrival would mean the release of the new Fall Preview edition of TV Guide, the rolling out of brand new shiny automobiles and the approaching World Series.</p><p>Today, sad to say, the younger generations look forward more to the latest iPhone, iPad or IKEA sale.</p><p>Every August, my mother would drag me to buy new &#8220;school clothes.&#8221; We went to The Hub on South Main Street, to American Clothing, further down South Main Street and then to Fowler, Dick &amp; Walker &#8212; The Boston Store, or Sears, or Robert Hall, or Mitchell Plessett&#8217;s in Plymouth.</p><p>It was an annual mission. And to her credit, my mom would allow me to choose much of my new school wardrobe.</p><p>After all, I was the one who would be wearing these clothes and, like any kid, I wanted to look cool.</p><p>How else would you explain my selection of powder blue socks to wear when I wore a powder blue shirt? Same with the dark blue socks with dark blue shirt. And, yes, the yellow socks worn with a yellow shirt. I may have even wore argyle socks with plaid shirts.</p><p>You can see just how cool I was, right?</p><p>But there was more to my preparation for school each morning. There was the morning bath, brushing of teeth, clipping of fingernails, Q-tips in the ears. It was a lot of primping, but I had to look my best when I walked through those doors of Central Elementary School.</p><p>Combing my hair was also a task. I&#8217;ve never been blessed with the kind of hair you see on movie stars. It would take some time to get my hair to look acceptable, to say the least.</p><p>And when I couldn&#8217;t get it right &#8212; which was most days &#8212; my mom would use her brush. Now, she had a glorious head of hair. It shined from her brushing it time and again. Her magical brush was a pink sort of plastic brush that worked absolute wonders &#8212; even on my wiry hair.</p><p>So on one of those dark, dismal days following her death in May 1968, as I was packing up her stuff, I came across my mom&#8217;s hair brush. I remember looking at it and staring at it and recalling all those precious times that she had used it to brush her hair and mine.</p><p>Even at age 17, I recall thinking just how very few those times were, and I remember trying to deal with the reality that those memories were all I had now, with no chance of new memories to be made.</p><p>I took the brush and put it in my room. I have used it every day ever since. It is the one personal possession that still connects me to my mom.</p><p>Sadly, the brush is not what it once was. The handle broke off years ago. I glued it together a few times, but it just kept breaking.</p><p>Many of the plastic bristles are gone as well.</p><p>But that brush still has, in my mind, my mom&#8217;s DNA, and mine, all through it.</p><p>So for 48 years, instead of hugs and kisses from a living mother, I have had the loving caresses of that brush. When I use it to brush my hair, my mom is there again &#8212; trying to make me look presentable to the world. And those memories come alive.</p><p>This was her brush. She used it every day and night. She held it. She ran it through her hair. She used it to get me ready for school each day.</p><p>You might think this odd, but I apply the same logic to remember and think of my dad when I apply a little Old Spice cologne each day. Dad loved the smell of Old Spice. It was his go-to fragrance when he was heading out on a Saturday night.</p><p>My mom has been gone for 48 years. My dad left us in 1995.</p><p>But with a simple stroke of a tattered hair brush and a splash out of an ivory bottle of cologne, they are with me every day.</p><p>And with mom and dad in my life through memories and mementos, I&#8217;m ready for another day of facing the world &#8212; ready for another first day of the school of life once again.</p><style>
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<div class="neCaption">Bill O&#8217;Boyle </div></div><div class="metaInfo"><photo0>https://www.timesleader.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/09/web1_Oboyle_Bill-2-1-1.jpg</photo0><caption0>Bill O&#8217;Boyle </caption0><photoCredit0></photoCredit0></div></div>
<div class="metaInfo"><bylineMeta><p>By Bill O&#8217;Boyle</p><p>boboyle@www.timesleader.com</p></bylineMeta></div><div class="metaInfo"><shirttailMeta><p>Reach Bill O&#8217;Boyle at 570-991-6118 or on Twitter @TLBillOBoyle, or email at boboyle@www.timesleader.com.</p></shirttailMeta></div>

Beyond the Byline: Tattered brush and favorite fragrance keep memories alive