This post is dedicated to my mommy. Because she really hates it when I wear this particular item of clothing and all but dared me to write a blog post about it.
When I was 10 or so, I think - we're fuzzy on the details - someone brought this shirt home for me. I've always believed it was my grandfather. He worked in apparel and I feel like this was a spare part somewhere along the way. It was gifted to me. Who knows? Maybe we bought it at Target. But anyway, over sized as it was then, the shirt ended up as a nightgown for me.
It was my favorite for a long, long time. Through middle school and high school. Then it came with me to college.
Eventually the fabric was so worn, you could see through it. And holes began to rip. Larger and larger they grew. First one in the shoulder that didn't keep it from being wearable but eventually two in the front.
In the photo, I had to put a black tank top inside the shirt so it would turn out in the photo - the fabric is really frail now. The holes look smaller here -- when I wear the shirt, and it hangs, they are rather gaping. I suppose it's pretty atrocious.
My mom likes to tease me about the shirt but I think she knows I'll never part with it. There are very few things I've had so long and even fewer that saw me through so many phases of my life.
I never wear it anymore. I keep it folded up and hidden in the back of a drawer (because my mom also teases me she'll sneak in and get rid of it when I'm not looking). Sometimes I take it out and put it on. It's not really a nightshirt anymore, of course. Naturally I'm quite a bit taller - and definitely wider - than I was at 10, but there's something deeply comforting about it.
No, I'll never part with my Lakers shirt.