My Red Fleece Sweatshirt

My Red Fleece Sweatshirt.

In the September 2000 I started my new job at a networking company, which was trying to build a communications bridge to speed up the internet. In December 2000 they gave us all red fleece sweatshirts with the company logo embroidered on where a left breast pocket would be. In January 2001 the company closed it's doors because it went bankrupt right about the time when Bush became president. No severance pay, no Cobra health care continuation, we were lucky they could sign our last paycheck and that we could keep our red fleece.

I liked my sweatshirt, it was warm and comfortable, but I didn't want to walk around with the name of a defunct high-tech company over my heart so I tried to rip out the threads of the machine embroidery that spelled out the company name. The machine had tied the threads too tight and it was impossible to remove the lettering without destroying the sweatshirt. So I set about finding a patch to cover up the damaged company name. I poked around fabric and craft stores, and I couldn't find a patch big enough to cover the logo, and not make me look like a complete idiot with something meant for a child's backpack on my chest, over my heart.

Then I found an American flag patch.

It was perfect size and shape and color. Now, I thought, I could have something appropriate to wear on Memorial Day. I've lived overseas for a short time, and while I was there I became quite a patriot. My travels told me that I was very lucky to have been born in the US, for so many reasons. In the spring of 2001 I looked like a dorky patriot in my sweatshirt, like the kind of person who's house would be decorated with lots of gingham and chickens and hearts - which isn't much the fashion in the Greater Boston area. But I didn't care. I liked my patriotic sweatshirt, so I looked like a dork, big deal. In August I was a red, white, and blue country bumpkin living in the city.

In September 2001 there were American flags everywhere.

Suddenly, my dorky sweatshirt was a statement of solidarity, of healing, of pride. In September I was a vigilant soulful American, saddened by what my sweatshirt came to represent. For a year I wore my red fleece, to the gym, to work, to visit my family. I liked wearing it for the quiet reminder of who we as a people are.

Then, my country unprovoked started a war.

I don't like wearing my sweatshirt now. It used to be warm and comfortable, it isn't anymore.

I guess, the American flag patch only just concealed the name of that bankrupt company anyway. An attractive veneer over torn up stitching.