My father collected t-shirts. As a bachelor he paid, by the pound, to have his shirts laundered and folded. Piles of his shirts, evenly folded, were left where he set them down. Later, when he married, his shirts took over a room. The room had wide wooden bookcases on which he stacked his hundreds of t-shirts. Although he practiced law and worked in a bank building, his daily outfit was built around the t-shirt.

Looking through his collection was like traveling around the world with him, from venue to venue to hear the music he loved: Bob Dylan, The Grateful Dead, Bonnie Raitt, Michelle Shocked, John Prine, Ani DiFranco, Lyle Lovett…The colors and patterns suggested what those who knew him knew: he could pull off just about any style. The sizes ranged from medium to XXL, revealing their age and his sentimentality. The collection included one for each year I taught and he judged at my school’s science fair, dozens of Grateful Dead shirts, at least one for every show he attended, and so many favorites. There was the homemade Jazz Fest shirt which summed up the festival experience, “Peace, Love and Port-O-Lets” and the “3 Seasons in Louisiana: Oyster Season, Crab Season and Shrimp Season” which paid tribute to his love of that special place. There were the shirts made for him and traditions he started, “Thursday Night Dinner’s Motley Crew” and “Twisted Billy’s Tours.” There were the bicycle shirts, the Mudd Volleyball shirts, and the tie-dyes.

When he died last summer his wife and I wondered what to do with all the shirts. We couldn’t just take them to Goodwill or keep a whole room full of them. Together we decided to give them away. At his Celebration of Life ceremony we set up a table, piled high with all of his t-shirts. We asked everyone to take a t-shirt. Some people dug for favorites, others struggled to pick just one and walked away with small piles, while others took from the top, satisfied just to have something he wore.  I believe every one of the hundreds of people that came to that service left with a t-shirt.

I have seen his t-shirts on children as pajamas, women as dresses, and dolls fashioned in his image. Most friends and family members wear theirs in tribute and treasure it in private. Picking out one of the shirts I kept from a drawer, I feel instantly connected. Slipping these shirts over my head is the closest I feel to getting one of his hugs.