My stepson has a favorite shirt. It is red and stretchy and has the word split written across it in white letters. He likes to wear it on Wednesdays and keep it on for the rest of the week. We have to wrestle it off of him to put it in the wash. He has other shirts, but something about this one is special.
He’s had this shirt since he was six. He’s twelve now. Needless to say it is getting too small. I can image him at sixteen wearing this same shirt stretched tightly across his chest. His stomach hanging out. The sleeves cutting off the circulation to his arms. The seams straining. The word split looking squashed from being stretched so far. He wouldn’t care. He would probably wear it on a date and be unaffected by the girl’s furrowed brow and questioning looks.
When I ask him what’s so good about his split shirt, he just says he doesn’t know. Then he thinks for a bit and says it’s not too big. This isn’t a sufficient answer. He has other shirts that aren’t too big. I would like to know what he likes about the shirt, so I can get him another. Right now, I can only speculate. Maybe it’s the fabric, stretchy and smooth. Maybe it’s the color, dark red. Maybe it’s the word split written in white cracking letters. Maybe if I used iron-on letters to put split across his other shirts he’d wear them too.