Story Material: Won't Wear That Again

There was a time in the 90's when it was fashionable for civilians to wear an Army PT shirt. The military was giving these shirts away as a promotion, and they were hot property for a few months. I don't remember the exact year, but this was back when it was cool for guys to dye their hair blond.

I spotted one of these shirts at a Salvation Army store last week. It brought back some memories.

At that time, I found an Army PT shirt at the DAV. I didn't feel like a poser when I wore it. I felt like I was supporting our troops and advertising for the military. Isn't that what you're doing when you wear shirt that has an organization's logo on it?

I wore it at the mall (remember those?), and a cute girl stopped me to ask where I got my shirt. I told her, and she sadly replied, "I've checked there a bunch of times, but I didn't find anything."

I was wearing this shirt one Saturday morning while I was hitting the garage sales. As I was walking up a steep driveway in a West Des Moines neighborhood, a little boy exploded out of the garage. He looked to be about four years old, and he sprinted at me with a wild smile full of baby teeth. He jumped at me spread-eagle as a woman shouted, "Chris! No!"

He caught me off guard, but I was able to catch him. "Well, Hi," I said as I struggled to keep from falling over, "That was quite a welcome."

The woman, who I guessed was his mother, jogged over to us. "I'm so sorry." She reached for the boy, "Chris, get off of him." I passed him to her. She explained, "It's your shirt. His dad is stationed overseas, and he hasn't seen him in a year." I smiled and looked around for a rock to crawl under.

She pressed her cheek against the boy's head and whispered, "That's not daddy, hon. That's just a man who is here for our sale." She turned and carried the boy back to the garage. I think he had started to cry.

I followed them to the garage because it would have been even more awkward to run away, which is what I wanted to do.

I was the sale's only customer, and I could feel her watching me as I browsed the card tables. I decided that a minute of shopping was polite enough. She and I made eye contact once more time as I walked out of the garage. She was sitting in a chair. There a boy who really missed his dad in her lap.

I weakly thanked her for her hospitality, and she replied, "You do look like Mike, though."

"I hope he's home real soon."

"We all do." She hugged her son, "Don't we, buddy?"

Without looking back, I climbed into my car and drove home.  I dropped the shirt in the donation bin the next time I was at the DAV. That girl at the mall could have it.

I don't think that I did anything wrong, but I wouldn't wear that shirt again.

Now that I'm a parent, that memory hurts even more.