Every. Single. Day.
Every sweatshirt Dad wears looks exactly like the one you see here. And Dad has a sweatshirt in every color imaginable....including day-glo orange...which he wears...in public.
Oh and you need to know something else: We are currently in the middle of a drought caused by a heat wave. Today it will be 102 degrees. It's been this way for WEEKS.
And yet, Dad still wears a sweatshirt.
Every. Single. Day.
A few weeks ago, Hubby took Dad for a haircut. The stylist said to him: "How are you liking this heat and how's the sweatshirt?"
Mom and I have tried to convince Dad to wear something cooler. He also owns a large collection of Polo shirts which sit in a dresser drawer, unworn.
Truth be told, he wears a sweatshirt every day because I am blessed to have air conditioning and I am ballsy enough to keep it on every single day during this heat wave. So, it's almost a little chilly in our house, even though I have the downstairs air conditioning set to 80 degrees. Compared to what's happening outside, it's kinda cool. And I love it.
Do you remember back in April, when Mom and Dad first moved in with us and Dad was cold and this happened? Well, that's why I have no problem with Dad wearing a sweatshirt. It's his way of surviving my need to have air conditioning. It's also one of the few clothing items he can put on with little help.
There's another side to the sweatshirt - the fashion side, or lack thereof. I'm used to sweatshirts because Dad has worn them forever. When I was growing up, he wore them in the garage while working on his race car. They're sort of his thing. Dad without a sweatshirt just seems wrong. And yet some people might think Dad seems wrong IN the sweatshirt.
Yesterday, we went to my brother's house for my nephew's birthday party. My sister-in-law's family is kinda swanky. They dress well. REALLY well. So well that Mom came up to me last night after we got home and said: "Do I look like a dork?" We then had a conversation about how well that family dresses and then I had to remind her that they are not better than us because their clothes cost more.
Anyway, Dad was there in a bright yellow sweatshirt...and I could see the looks. And you know what? F*** 'em. All of 'em. I kinda liked that they were there, all designer-ed up and I was there, dressed head to toe in Target and Dad was there in his crewneck glory.
Because here's what living in the Senior Sauna has finally taught me: The little things don't matter. And Dad dressed in a sweatshirt doesn't matter. He can no longer embarrass me with his odd and weather-inappropriate clothing choice. It's such a small thing. The comfort and functionality of the sweatshirt - the fact that it's stable and something upon which Dad can depend every day - is perfect.
I realized yesterday that I used to look at people that were caring for and transporting old people around and think: "Poor bastards. That must really suck." Now I see us, with our Old People Train walking verrrrrrrryyyyyy slowwwwwllllyy in and out of places, and I realized that I've finally relaxed. I finally have learned to just chill. Not about everything, but about a lot of things. And all it took was two old people invading my life. All it took was putting my life on hold and creating a new home for people that gave me my first home.
All it took was the sweatshirt.
God bless that damn sweatshirt.
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