02.09.20 — The DW Sunday Column: This is how a hoodie can ruin your day
When something has meaning, it is tough to see it go — even when it is just a piece of clothing
Panic is not the right word. Maybe a “what the heck” feeling. A gosh darn it thought going through my head.
Here I was in my closet looking for my favorite hood and sweatshirt. I guess the dot.com kids would call it my favorite hoodie.
There are not too many times I need my hoodie. The reason people live in Arizona is not for the summer, but the beautiful winter weather. If we needed a hoodie too often, no one would live here. But, we sometimes do. Especially in the mornings, in the winter.
This was one of the rare times I needed my hoodie for a late afternoon hike. Well, not needed, I have other long sleeve options, but I like my hoodie.
But since I do not use it often, I could not find my hoodie.
It was not in the usual spot. It was not in the laundry basket. It was not on the other side of the closet. It was not in my first peice of luggage, my second and not in my last one. I had a “Dude — where is my hoodie ?”…moment.
This is where the slight panic feeling came in. I really like the hoodie. It is a San Diego Padres authentic apparel right from the clubhouse. The material is so comfortable, but still warm, that you validate the idea that major leaguers have it good.
As I pondered my loss of comfort, deep down, I knew that was not really the reason. The San Diego Padres hoodie was given to me by my old neighbor and friend. Terry was one of the equipment managers for the Padres during spring training. So when I say the hoodie was authentic apparel, I mean it — and not the kind you see in commercials on TV. Knowing Terry, a Padres player probably liked him so much they let him have it. Knowing Terry, he was thoughtful enough top give it to me.
Terry, about age 70, died this past summer in a car accident. I had a lot of other athletic apparel from Terry: Dry fit shirts and shorts from the Padres and UFL teams from an equipment manager gig he did when the league existed. It was always a good day when he threw a shirt at me or said: “come here, I have something for you.”
Shortly after Terry died, I took all the clothing he gave me and gave it away. It made me sad to wake up in the morning and play racquetball with shorts and a shirt from Terry.
But I kept the hoodie. After all, a hoodie is not needed often in Arizona. I figured it would bring a smile to my face the few times I would wear it each year. And, dang, it sure was comfortable.
Now it was gone. Not in its regular spot.
Maybe I left it at my daughters in Tennessee? No, she would have mentioned it by now. Perhaps I left it in my hotel in Des Moines? But which trip?
When did I see it last? Oh, come on, don’t you hate that quesiton! If I knew where I saw it last, the dang thing would not be lost.
So here I was, in my closet. Panic? A “what the heck” feeling? A gosh darn it thought to go through my head? Now, maybe sadness.
Well, I still want to hike, so now it is time to give up and leave the closet. I will wear the big red zip-up sweatshirt that does not look good, does not feel that comfortable, but I got it free as a Cardinals season ticket holder, and it doesn’t matter if it gets dirty. And, it is always in the same place: on a hook, next to the door to the garage.
It is about 22 steps, give or take a step or two, from the closet to the door that goes to the garage. In those 22 steps, I feel mad, sad, and really had a gosh darn it moment, wondering what will keep Terry in my mind in the future.
At step 20 I turned the corner and saw my red sweatshirt. AND, AND, guess what was next to it? Yes, it was the blue, the beautiful, the comfortable, the San Diego Padres hoodie.
I will be a son of a gun, it was cold the day before, and sure enough, I already pulled it out of the closet and wore it to hike and then put it on the hook next to the red zip-up sweatshirt.
Relief. Joy.
Time to hike.
But….more than anything…
I still wish I could hear Terry say “come here, I have something for you” just one more time.
