Paying My Respects

I am certainly not a man of fashion. Proof? For Secret Santa this past year, I was given a new pair of pants (at which point the number of pants I owned doubled, minus the one pair of dress pants I own that I never wear because they are too nice). Thanks Chryssa! Each piece of clothing I own has its own name, e.g., the “I’m Not Full Shirt,” the “Peruvian Potato Farmer Pants,” the “Tyrone Biggums Hat,” and the “Now I’m Blind Because Your Jacket Is So Damn Orange Jacket." I recently got dumped for no doubt several reasons; one main reason apparently being the way I dress and how much of a goon I look like on a daily basis. My dresser is filled with more wifebeaters than dress shirts and black socks combined. I only shave once or twice a month.

Here I digress for a moment...I was once in military school where I was forced to shave everyday. My face was inspected for hair once in the morning and once at night. I hated it. If you ask me, all military personnel should have facial hair. If not like the goatee of Scott Ian from Anthrax, then at least some stubble. I mean, come on, who is going to be afraid of some pretty boy who looks like he’s 15? Just yesterday I was reading the results of a study that asked the question, “Do women like men with stubble?” To take a quote from the article which can be read here, “Stubble is the way to win a woman’s heart…Women participating in the research rated men with stubble as tough, mature, aggressive, dominant and masculine…The explanation for the preference is not clear, but experts in human evolution say that that facial hair may be a signal of aggression because it boosts the apparent size of the lower jaw, emphasizing the teeth as weapons.” Forget the M16A2 standard issue rifle and start handing out Rogaine and dremels so that our boys abroad can grow mean goatees and have sharp canines! They’ll be home from Iraq and Afghanistan in no time…

Now back to the main purpose of this entry; to pay respect to something that has been more honest and true to me than almost anything else in the world besides my family. It was next to me for my university graduation photo, it accompanied me for nearly 3 months as I traveled across Africa, and it protected me from scary things in Myanmar. But just a few days ago, as I was packing for my move from Beijing to Nanchang, I realized it was finally time for my Hathaway button-down to rest in peace. Hathaway began production in 1837 and even supplied shirts for Union soldiers in the Civil War. But in 2002, after 165 years of making shirts in Maine, the sewing machines stopped at what was at the time the nation’s last major shirt factory. According to one NY Times article, the sentiment on that fateful day more than 6 years ago was quite grim:

“It’s losing your family,” said Sherry Laliberty, 59, who worked in the plant for 35 years. “My God, we’ve been through divorces and deaths and children growing up and grandchildren. We’ve been through everything in there, and we are family.”
Richard Hewes, who bought 10 shirts from the factory store on Friday [October 18, 2002], recalled that his grandfather gave him Hathaway shirts. Mr. Hewes said he had been wearing them since 1975. “I’m not saying it’s a family tradition,” said Mr. Hewes, a lawyer in Augusta. “It’s just a good quality shirt.”



My dear shirt, you taught me two important lessons that we all should know: It’s not what’s on the outside that determines our quality of life and Dad always (well maybe not always, but at least most of the time) knows best. You will be forever loved and remembered. 1980-something (a hand-me-down from my father) - February 1, 2009