Another fellow clucked his tongue and said, sourly, “You do know you’re in Red Sox country, right?” 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 “Polska.” One day, while strolling across the campus where I teach, a robust bear of a student threw his arm around my shoulder and exclaimed, “Brother!” 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, “VOLUNTEER.” This elicited a comment from a pleasant woman: “Thank you for your time and effort.”
You’re 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: “World’s Largest Fruit Salad—UMass Amherst.” 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.
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