Scratchy shirt: A separatist tale
Written by Christa Bedwin, a Canadian raised in the Rockies. “I hate this scratchy hair shirt that we wear,” said Al to his siblings. “Edward, give me your shirt. Your shirt must be better than my shirt.” Edward was, indeed, very much smaller than Al, so he didn’t argue. He took off his shirt, and, shivering naked in the Maritime fog, passed it to Al. Al pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside, not even thinking of Ed’s nakedness. Edward’s shirt didn’t even get over his arm, never mind his whole big muscly chest and fat belly. Bellowing in rage, he threw Ed’s tiny shirt all the way back to the east. “Huron,” he commanded, “you are bigger than me. You are always stealing my stuff. Give me your shirt, Right Now!” Now, it’s true, Huron was bigger than Al, and Huron did not have to give Al his shirt, but Huron also knew that his shirt was just as scratchy as Al’s. Huron’s life was no easier. And Al was always yelling, selfish, screaming. Easier to quietly give in and let him learn on hi...