Buckskin Camper

I’m not very superstitious or ritualistic, but I do have a shirt that makes me both comfortable and brings me luck and happiness. It’s my dad’s Boy Scout shirt from when he was young. I found it in Grandma and Grandpa’s closet sometime back (since my dad still has some of his toys, books, and clothes there) and someone let me have it. I remember being excited about wearing it. It had more to do with my love of vintage clothing (being certain that this was vintage because the wearer is my father) than anything sentimental. I wore it off and on, but then one day- during my first week of finals in college- I decided that it was lucky. I wore it to every final with the little wooden Buddha my dad had given me when he saw me off to Bloomington. I passed- actually aced- all of those finals, so I believe in its powers to this day. The patches have begun to loosen through wear. This gives me mixed feelings. I feel guilty because I have worn something that should be hanging in a closet to preserve the memories it has for my dad, but i also feel as if it is my obligation to wear around his accomplishments. I feel like this shirt begs me to wear it, that I was meant to love its lucky powers. (By no accident my father is incredibly lucky, so I really feel his influences in the sleeves). I have sewn the patches on tighter, and I feel good about adding my own stitches to repair the aging ones my dad plucked in so long ago. 

Buckskin campers are mostly pretty lucky.

Numbers and Letters: America the Physical

I have another marked paper under my belt. Surprised to see that I got a 71 (a relatively good mark). I wrote about the generic designation of the term neo-realism- using the writings of Andre Bazin and Jean- Louis Baudry as critical debate. Dr. Mattias Frey responded favorably to nearly every point in the paper, although he did point out that I could have benefited from a little better organization and focus. I’m glad to have received this grade, I need that kind of affirmation. 

In other news, I’ve started writing letters. I’ve yet to send them for lack of stamps and envelopes, but I have written them. One to each set of grandparents and another to Sam Caughlin, who is quite diligent with his postcards. It is a relieving process. I suppose letter writing is a semi-selfish endeavor, I think that I will benefit more from this process than the recipients, because it is clarifying for me to describe my situation outside of the sometimes alien confines of a webpage. I have discovered a recent longing for physicality. I suppose we only miss what we are without, and in this case, I am currently without the physical evidence of my homeland. I have objects from America, but they are objects that exist in the past. I crave the idea of physical messages. I have never had this urge at any other time in my life, but I embrace it now. 

Thinking is mostly an allegory.