Let me tell you a story, folks, that’ll give you a better idea of how weird I am.
Step back with me to January of 2000 and my 12-year old self. I was rummaging through a clothing rack at a thrift store, when I came across an old, faded red T-shirt with a large black dog on the front and my birth year on the back.
I’m not sure why, but I took to liking the symbol on the shirt. So much so, that I started wearing it every day that I could. If I wasn’t in a school uniform, I was wearing it.
My small town took to associating me with that shirt and its symbol. If I wore something else in my teenage years (and it did happen on occasion), folks would be concerned. It became a part of my persona.
Yes, all of us became invested in the idea of me wearing one particular T-shirt for several years. Roll with it.
I was about 15 when I learned that the Black Dog was a tavern on Martha’s Vineyard Island. I began a letter correspondence with the family that owned the Tavern and its company, telling them all about how this one shirt made it to Louisiana and became so integral to my public life. They were intrigued, or at least amused, by my antics.
It managed to survive until I was about 19, when the shoulder seams ripped. I had to retire the shirt, and I wouldn’t find another one for a couple years.
Nowadays, I own several, and my friends and family all own at least one.
Fast forward 26 years, and look at the weirdo who has finally made it to the Tavern that gave him so much of his social persona.
Will update soon! Been a busy weekend!
Stay safe out there folks.
-JB Swift
Swift's Corner 