My Red Shirt

It was perhaps a shirt I was never meant to have. Luck was certainly a factor in it's decision to find me, and me find it. It's not just a shirt anymore. A simple possession years ago, is now a reminder, a deep seeded catcher of dreams and memories. It's a conveyor of feelings and experiences. It's construction is simple. The red cotton is slightly faded. The yellow vinyl iron on graphics are cracking to reveal their age. Show their washing machine rides on their chests. If you saw it, you wouldn't think much of it. Small holes here and there through the old cotton, that's scratchy to the skin when you put it on. It's faded and old, but to me, it's so much more. Memories, feelings and friendship.



At Eric's house, I was a constant visitor that summer. Probably even perhaps considered to have over stayed my welcome. Eric or his parents didn't mind though, and even if they didn't, they never complained. Happenstance found my life, and tagged me it. Ventura mornings, afternoons and nights became my future for the next week. Beach fun, and peanut butter jelly bellies were a constant. Eric and I lived that week and the rest of the summer with no regrets. We became surfers, and beach bums. We tanned darker than we had ever had, and the beach blond hairdo's grew out with the time. We didn't leave anything to regret.



Years later, the t-shirt still fits. One year short of a decade I've worn that shirt here and there and everywhere else. When times get tougher than they should be it's there for a hug. When the light is almost out, it's fresh batteries and bulb. Here, I pull the shirt from it's hiding place. I smell it, and no matter how dirty or how clean-it always smells great. Like home. I slip it on, and close my eyes. I run down the beach, or crack open a beer with friends and family. I'm transported home. It breaks the ice and allows a much needed smile. It's my only gateway to a past life. It invites the memories to freely flow, for unfiltered happiness to rush forward, and it doesn't even ask them to leave their shoes at the door. It warms the heart and soothes the soul. My red shirt, my helping hand. The reminder to home, and with it great laughs, great smiles, great friends and a loving family. I'm wearing it now, and feel so much better.

We all have these simple reminders, our own red shirts. Mine might mean as much to my past as that afghan from your grandma, or that smokers hat from your grandpa. That blue cowboy shirt, or pair of slippers. They are time machines. They bring you to the past or revive the dead. They might not let you interact with either, but they do the best they can. Help you to remember, to view, to feel. Are you going to wear your red shirt today?



nachos and lemon heads, and my red shirt!