The last shirt

Today was a big day for my son Jack. He had a key role in the chapel program being presented by his class. In addition to parents and grandparents attending, many of the other elementary classes watched this important event.

Last night I was informed by my son, the actor, that he wanted to wear black pants and a black pullover shirt. This was not a requirement from his teacher but just what Jack felt the character would wear. He also wanted to wear sandals to be more authentic but Mommy put her foot down since the temperature outside was 29 degrees.

“But they didn’t wear running shoes in biblical times,” my son declared.

“They also didn’t wear Superman underwear either.” I added.

Jack didn’t want to give up his superhero boxers so he quietly put on his running shoes.

He came out of his bedroom all dressed in black and sat down for breakfast. Spongebob Squarepants was on television. My mistake. Jack can’t watch TV and eat at the same time. The fork or spoon ends up in suspension, halfway between dish and the child’s mouth. Spongebob and cereal aren’t a good combination.  Hovering in mid-air on auto-pilot, the cereal-filled spoon started to lose altitude and eventually the contents made a crash landing on Jack’s black shirt. Milk on a black shirt isn’t pretty.

Jack marched back to his room and returned a few moments later with a fresh black shirt. TV was turned off and the rest of the cereal was finished without a problem. The orange juice, however, was not going to go down without a fight. Just as Jack lifted the glass to his lips, Gracie bumped into him and half of the juice in the glass splashed across Jack’s shirt.

Jack marched back to his room a second time, all the while muttering about whether there would be another black shirt in the closet. Luckily for him, there was one remaining black shirt just waiting to be picked. I hadn’t realized until this morning how depressing my seven-year-old’s wardrobe was.

With breakfast finished and no other food or beverages permitted anywhere near my son, we finished getting ready for school and dashed into the car. Jack was happy that he could wear his black outfit.

I sat in the audience as my son and his classmates walked to the center of the school gym and began their show. Jack stood proudly, delivered his lines with confidence and smiled as I snapped pictures. As I lowered the camera I noticed something shiny on Jack’s shirt. I strained to get a better look. Then I saw it. Jack had spilled toothpaste on his shirt this morning.

Starting tomorrow, Jack stays in his pajamas until a few seconds before we walk out the door!

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