Get Rid Of it
Sometimes we become over attached to things, even to people, for no real reason. Perhaps for sentimental reasons. Maybe whatever it is reminds you of a time, a place, a person you once loved.
For Jeff, it was a t-shirt. It reminded him of his father, and childhood, growing up in Tennessee. For ages I couldn’t understand why he kept on wearing it.
“Get rid of that shirt,” I told him when he turned up wearing it once again.
“Why? I love it,” he replied.
“It has more holes than swiss cheese, it’s virtually falling apart,” I replied, rolling my eyes.
“I love it!” he protested.
“Get rid of it!” I demanded.
Of course, he never did. And after he died, I found it, and kept it. I’m not normally one for holding onto sentimental things, but that I do. It will always remind me of him, and I’m glad he never did get rid of it.
Get rid of it
It’s just a beat up old truck, thirty years old now. It rolled out of Detriot, Michigan back in 1986. Jeff’s Dad, Frank bought it brand new and drove it all the way back to Tennessee. Frank died in Desert Storm in 1991, and Jeff and his Mum moved back to her hometown in England. Jeff learnt to drive in that truck. He then taught me to drive in that old truck. That old truck has been everywhere. From Michigan, to Tennessee, all the way down to Florida, it went across the sea to England.
It’s a beat up old truck, and no one understands why I don’t just scrap it. But I wouldn’t trade it in for anything. It holds so many memories.
I’m never get rid of it. To me, it’s better than brand new.