Skip to main content

The Hoodies I Have Known

What a strange spring we've had. Near ninety degree weather in March. Followed by forties and windy. I miss the good old days when we had two good months of mid-60 degree weather. Now those were seasons to remember. When the tulips teased their way to the surface. When the robins rousted you out of bed each morning. When you still needed a sweatshirt in the morning and evening, but could get by with a long sleeved shirt midday. Tonight made me think of those seasons past. Cool. Light breeze. Perfect night for a hoodie.

I grabbed my pale, light gray hoodie emblazoned with my high school mascot--a profile of a proud, strong Warrior. As I left the house for my nightly walk, I threw it over my head and settled in to a comfortable stride. About ten minutes into my neighborhood stroll, memories of hoodies past surfaced. In normal times, I imagine that I wouldn't think twice about sweatshirts. But these are not normal times. These are abrupt times. These are times for rash decisions. Or indecision, if you think about it. These are times when assumption precedes fact. These are times when hoodies have meaning. And I don't know about you, dear reader, but mine have meant nothing but comfort.

I am now about six years old. It is fall and my siblings and I are gearing up to rake leaves in our much too big back yard. I can't wait to burst out into the crisp, autumn air in my brand new, bright red zip-up hoodie. It is so bright, I'd say it is deserving of the adjective "brilliant." The hood tightly pulled around my head keeps the wind out of my ears. It is like having my mother's hands sheltering me from the harsh elements. Cupping my head so my ears don't go red. I love my new sweatshirt and the warmth it brings. I can't wait to go to school on Monday and show my friends.

Fast forward a few years and I am now in high school. It's early in softball season, when some games are played in the bitter cold. Makes your hands sting like crazy if the ball hits the bat in just the wrong spot. I'm wearing my typical gear--my older sister's black army t-shirt with a snarling bulldog on the front. My gray uniform jersey proudly bearing the number 13 on the back. And sandwiched in between is my tattered, dark gray hoodie. Thick enough to keep me warm, but thin enough to allow adequate movement. I can even scrunch the sleeves up to mid forearm without them bunching up like Popeye arms. I love this sweatshirt and the comfort it brings me. It is my good luck charm. Sad is the day when the weather is too warm to wear a sweatshirt. Why does the season have to change mid-season?

Later on in life, when I've moved beyond worrying about the future and have begun lamenting about the past, my hoodie of choice brings me back to grad school. My first true taste of "campus life." Back to friends who challenged me, but loved me nonetheless even when I did not feel up to the challenge. Back to a time when I had to prove myself once again, while reassuring myself that I didn't have to prove anything to anyone. Back to a time that I am glad to have experienced and don't want to forget. This smokey gray hoodie with the old gold and black lettering brings me comfort. Just like the other hoodies I have known. And that is how it should be.

A good sweatshirt is like a hug from a friend. The hood on my head is like a pat on the head after scoring a run. It is my one and only tailgating. It is walking with the folks I love and love me back.

Always.

Never a target. Never a symbol. Never an invitation to assumption, hate or violence. And if some small mind out there decides to make it as much, then I at least hope that for one young man who died too soon, that his hoodie was at the very least, one last hug.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Antisociality of Social Media (Part 1)...Who Are We? How Did We Get Here?

(Response forthcoming in part two) I'm bad with names. I can remember a face no problem. But names are automatically sent to an unlockable vault deep within the cortex of my brain. I don't know if it is my short term memory that is a problem or long term. I have forgotten names of people I have just met while they are finishing their "Hi, I'm so and so. Nice to meet you." You had me at Hi and lost me by "I'm so and so." Likewise, I also can't remember the names of people I grew up with. I dread going out and about in my hometown for fear that I will run into someone who is purportedly my BFF from 1986 and I just don't remember his or her name to save my life. I'm partial to the Elaine Benes idea that we should all wear name tags. (For those not familiar with Seinfeld, Google it.) Now, one might be inclined to suggest that I see a neurologist to have a thorough hippocampus evaluation. But I'm not so sure the problem is c...

Overpopulaton of Punctuation Marks Threatens Message Extinction

[Because this bears repeating in such desperate times] Scientists report that a recent rise in the overuse of punctuation marks will ultimately lead to the demise of the common message. It is not known if the increasing trend of ending a sentence with multiple and in some cases, mixed, punctuation marks is the result of the natural evolution of messaging, or if human actions are speeding the process. What is clear, though, is that punctuation marks and messages are not taking their impending doom lying down. In a rare twist of bipartisanship, punctuation marks and messages came together to call for measures to halt the message crisis and return our civilization back to the days of making points in a clear, concise manner. Speaking for the punctuators, Exclamation point stated, "I'm a loner. You don't need two of me. The whole purpose of my existence is to accentuate a  point. I thought I was doing that just fine already." Mr. Question Mark had this to...

Planning for Parenthood Involves Maintaining Your Health. Or, Why I Support Planned Parenthood

Given that I don't have kids, the title of this post may seem a bit odd. What do I know about planning for parenthood, right? I don't have much room to talk, right? Sure, I might not be one of the lucky ones who enjoys the joys of little bundles of joy, but I'm going to ask you to cut me a little slack before you judge. After all, at the age of nineteen, when I first moved away from home to prepare for a career in Radiography, I did not know I would be childless many moons later.