I kept my chef's coat for thirty years after the job ended.
It hangs in the hall closet, right next to the foster care paperwork.
There's a burn hole near the left pocket from the night I told a young cook to pay attention.
He was my night-shift coworker, fresh out of high school, and he called me Pops.
Last year I went to a conference for foster parents. They gave me a name tent card that said 'Foster Dad' in big letters.
I wore that coat to the conference. The burn hole felt like a badge.
People asked about it. I told them I trained a kid who became a line cook in Denver.
That kid is now a foster parent too. He keeps his own coat.
I guess we pass down more than burns.