Black turtleneck sweatshirt that my mother gave me for Christmas when I was 13 years old:
I was wearing it when I first shaved at the age of 14.
I was wearing it on my first date (and during my first kiss) at the age of 15.
I was wearing it when I failed my first driving test at the age of 16.
I was wearing it when I found my first gray hair at the age of 17.
I was wearing it when I first voted at the age of 18.
I was wearing it when I sipped my first cup of coffee at the age of 19.
I was wearing it when I hit my first (and last) home run at the age of 20.
I was wearing it when, at the age of 21, I was handed back my first (and last) 50 page Political Science term paper, graded with a big red “C+” glaring at the top of the title-page.
I was wearing it when I first stared into a wolf’s eyes on a camping trip, at the age of 22 (The wolf ran away.)
I was wearing it when I accepted a position as a paid church choir soloist at the age of 23 (I resigned after 5 years).
I was wearing it when I took my first solo Greyhound bus trip to Ashern, Manitoba at the age of 24.
I was wearing it when, at the age of 25, I stumbled upon my misplaced wallet, after I’d already got my bank card replaced and all my personal ID and everything.
I was wearing it when I began working my first shift as a janitor at SuperValu, at the age of 26. I was wearing it the first time I held a snake (a street beggar’s pet snake; he let me hold it in exchange for some money), at the age of 27.
I was wearing it the first time I (successfully) downhill skied the hardest slope on Mount Agassiz, at the age of 28.
I was wearing it the day I moved in with my same-sex common-law spouse at the age of 29, and we’re still together and still very much in love after over seven years.
Black turtleneck sweatshirt. I still wear it sometimes. My spouse tells me that I look very handsome and very sexy in it.
Black turtleneck sweatshirt, a gift from my mother. She died of cancer in 1993. I was 20 years old.