stranger than the fiction

wore and am still wearing some of my old man's clothes... namely a striped polo that he apparently loved as i've seen photo after photo with him wearing this selfsame shirt. why? it still smells like him and it reminds me of the man that once, barrel-chested filled out this shirt with magnificent gasps of air and strode around confidently in his giant shoes that i feel indebted to fill. why? why not... it is the same footfalls of our forbears that we need to walk in again, but not land exactly in his same imprints. this shirt reminds me of the man, the same occasional stains that dot this shirt were caused by the oil that he changed, the sandwich that he ate, the beer and coffee that he spilled and it landed on this shirt and he continued to wear it and them as medals bedecking his broad chest and it remained there, never ashamed, never turned away and i try to honour his one-time presence in this shirt by wearing it still, self-assured that he wore this shirt once too and now i am doing the same. happy father's day, papa.