The tales my tees tell about me
The man slapped me on the back and said, 鈥淪o, tell me about Kleer.鈥�
I threw him a questioning look. Picking up on this, he pointed and said, 鈥淵our T-shirt.鈥�
I looked down and read its message: 鈥淜leer 鈥� Think Beyond Wood.鈥�
Oh.
The deal is this: I buy my T-shirts at the local thrift shop. Fifty cents for a tee in crisp, clean condition. What a bargain! The message on the shirt is of little importance to me. Once I鈥檝e bought the shirt, I forget about it. This means that I am often taken off guard when others note whatever it is I鈥檓 inadvertently advertising. The responses aren鈥檛 always of the back-slapping kind.
Consider the man who growled at me when he noted my bright green tee: 鈥淵ou liberals are all alike!鈥� he said.
The back of my shirt read: 鈥淔air contract. Now!鈥� I had no idea what it pertained to. No matter. In the eyes of the offended man, I was a liberal. And I was like all other liberals. Whatever that means.
Another fellow clucked his tongue and said, sourly, 鈥淵ou do know you鈥檙e in Red Sox country, right?鈥� It was only then that I remembered I was wearing a Yankees T-shirt. All I could do was nod in response.
But most of the messages I carry do not elicit anything resembling hostility or even a frown. If people comment at all, it mostly reflects approbation, if not enthusiasm. I have a striking red tee with the white Polish eagle emblazoned on the front, along with the word 鈥淧olska.鈥� One day, while strolling across the campus where I teach, a robust bear of a student threw his arm around my shoulder and exclaimed, 鈥淏rother!鈥� He told me he was from Russia and that we Slavs have to stick together. It so happens that I am of Polish ancestry, but I have never been much interested in alliances.
In another instance, I picked up a handsome tee that bore the logo of the American Folk Festival, held yearly in Bangor, Maine. In large letters across the back it read, 鈥淰OLUNTEER.鈥� This elicited a comment from a pleasant woman: 鈥淭hank you for your time and effort.鈥�
You鈥檙e welcome.
Other tees have stimulated lengthy, and pleasant, conversation. I have a spectacular T-shirt with a garish splattering of colorful fruits and vegetables on the front. The caption: 鈥淲orld鈥檚 Largest Fruit Salad 鈥� UMass Amherst.鈥� This was the impetus for a wonderful exchange initiated by an organic farmer at one of our open-air markets here in Maine. It turns out he had attended UMass Amherst and knew all about the phenomenal salad. When he was done singing its praises I felt as if I had done a heroic deed simply by wearing the shirt.
Some of my tees bear messages attesting to accomplishments I can take no credit for. I am not a Cessna pilot. I did not take part in the Kenduskeag Stream Canoe Race in 2013. I have never walked the entire Appalachian Trail, and I do not speak Esperanto.
However, there are messages I do wish I could find, for they would reflect my experiences and sensibilities:
鈥淚 have visited Greenland.鈥�
鈥淭horeau. Now more than ever.鈥�
鈥淒on鈥檛 let school interfere with your education.鈥�
鈥淏aking soda can be used for almost anything.鈥�
But perhaps, trumping all of these, I should settle for a message of rote candor, to wit: 鈥淭his is not my shirt. I bought it at a thrift shop.鈥�
That would, I think, keep everybody honest.
