The oldest thing in "the box" (see yesterday's post) is a t-shirt from my toddlerhood. The tag says 24 months and that means kids must be bigger these days, because my son's 18 month-old shirts are much bigger than it. One might be surprised to learn that this is my favorite tee, what with the fringe on the shoulders and the fact that I hate country music, but I like cowboys. I was born and raised in New Mexico and from age two to seventeen I lived mere miles from the Texas border. The summer before my senior year in high school my family moved to the birthplace of Billy the Kid and I love going to visit my parents there. There was a guy in my graduating class who practiced roping during lunch in the school parking lot with a fake calf made of welded pipes. When faced with a difficult situation, the first words that go through my mind are still "cowboy up." But mostly I think I just like the little cartoon on the shirt. I once begged my mom to buy a box of generic cocoa puff cereal because it had a picture of a cartoon wizard on front. More than cowboys I love cartoons.
Girbaud jeans were the first brand name clothes I had to have. During the '80s I somehow missed the little alligators on polo shirts and the triangles on the back pockets of Guess? jeans, but puberty somehow opened my eyes to the white tag on the fly of Girbaud jeans. Before I got the middle shirt pictured above, I had a Levi's one that said "Button Your Fly" and I wore it almost everyday. The significance of the shirt above is that I did wear it everyday - from 8th grade through at least my sophomore year. You see, I had cystic acne on my face, neck, chest, back and shoulders and I was on accutane (which eventually worked), but it caused my blood to not scab. So anytime I popped a zit my shirt would cover, it would bleed continously and stain whatever I wore. Enter the ultimate undershirt: it was thicker material and out of style by this point, so I sacrificed it to protect my other shirts. It was originally long-sleeved but that got hot, so I cut the sleeves. At some point (well before I stopped wearing it) the armpits turned a spicy mustard color. The fabric wore so thin it got runs like nylons. The collar became detached except for the shoulder seams on either side so I attached safety pins in true punk rock fashion. All this led up to the move I just mentioned. When my family arrived in the new, small town, another family from church invited us over for dinner. The other family had girls the same age as my brothers and I and it was obvious what could have conspired. But it didn't, because I wore my nasty, ragged shirt with a hole that my nipple stuck through. Needless to say, it was another year before any of those girls or their parents warmed up to us. My mom still hates this shirt (if for no other reason, than the dinner disaster alone) and I threatened to wear it as an undershirt at my wedding, but I didn't.
The "Chunk" tee I've had for almost two years and it gets more comments than any other piece of clothing I've ever owned (and I wore what looked like bowling shoes in high school). Nearly every person I pass on the street and in the store says "great shirt." I wore this the day my son was born and the first thing my brother said about the picture of me holding my newborn baby was "love The Goonies shirt." Now when I wear it, my son points and stares at Chunk and babbles as if he's carrying on a conversation with the image. Which shirt do you like best?
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