All I Want for Christmas is This Caucasians T-Shirt

This “Caucasians” t-shirt is all I want for Christmas ... Well, okay, this and an American flag lapel pin.

Actually, I want seven of these t-shirts and one lapel pin, so I can wear one of these t-shirts every day of the week (and that lapel pin). I want to know how these t-shirts feel on my White body.

And when I wear these t-shirts on my White body, and that lapel pin, I will ask my White peers if they would like a “Caucasians” t-shirt (a properly fitting, high-quality cotton crewneck, of course). But just before they speak to accept or refuse my offer, I will also ask if they think they’re able to feel what so many people of color feel – deep down in their t-shirted bodies – because of how the White World treats those t-shirted bodies every single day. To each White peer who responds, “I do not know what they feel. How could I?!?!” I will give one of these “Caucasians” t-shirts and say, “Here, try this on. Do make sure it’s the right size, the right ... fit … if you will. Though, I think you (and I) will find it surely fits, fits just fine. Just put the thing on.”

If instead they respond, “I do indeed understand what they feel. We’re all human, right?!?!” I will say, “Here, try this on anyway. Just in case. And yeah, I’m pretty sure it’ll be the right size, the right ... fit.”

Then I will ask each White peer for one of their t-shirts in exchange. Kind of like that great soccer tradition where players swap jerseys at the end of the game. I love that. There’s like, I don’t know, a neat fraternalism in the whole business. (Note that this only happens among male soccer players, as female players do not follow this tradition, at least not that I am aware of.) … In this case, though, I will need to remove my lapel pin before handing over my t-shirt. (Because, by god, I need that pin to feel good about my nation of origin).

I will try on each t-shirt given to me by each White peer because I do want to know how each shirt fits and, as much as I possibly can, how each person feels. Especially when, for so many (including White people), life is so tough and complicated, I’d like to walk a mile in each human’s t-shirt: Their loved ones are dying. Marriages are rocky. Kids are misbehaving. Addictions are rampant. And it feels as if this world is shifting before peoples’ very eyes, slipping away … Jobs can be scarce and don’t pay enough, no matter how hard you work. I know many of my White peers feel left out, not a part of all this prosperity that there’s so much talk of.

I’ll confess, I’ve felt pain, too, at times, and I’ve in turn worn t-shirts that were the same style or brand as those worn by my White peers. (Still, I do most of my shopping secondhand. I buy clothes that were once worn by someone else. So my style varies, and I rarely pay attention to brands).

Eventually, some Whites will find that the t-shirt they’ve been wearing – the one they’ve long worn, not the new “Caucasians” shirt I’d like to give them – doesn’t feel quite the same to them as it once did, doesn’t seem to … fit … like it used to. In fact, it’s likely feeling a bit worn, tattered even, and it’s probably gone out of style.

Still, that it’s their t-shirt is what really matters. Maybe it’s even their mostest favoritest t-shirt of all time. I mean, don’t we all have a favorite shirt or outfit? Don’t we all have that favorite something we wear, those certain comfort clothes that we just want to climb into and blob around in at the end of a long, hard workday? It might be a t-shirt, or else maybe those footed, flannel onesie pajamas. Or those wool socks your grandma knit for you. Maybe that old baseball cap with the bent bill. Or maybe it’s not just their favorite t-shirt but their only t-shirt? … So maybe I can’t blame some Whites for wanting to just stay in their old comfy t-shirts or other clothes, even as they vent frustration that those favorite t-shirts are wearing out. Some are so frustrated that they even try to deny their t-shirts are wearing thin, deny that gaping holes are forming. (Personally, I just can’t bear to part with my socks full of holes, no matter how much my kids badger me to toss them. Eventually, though, the cold kitchen floor convinces my toes and me that I, too, need to toss old socks, as well as other clothes … Discomfort can be a great motivator.)

As comfortable as those old t-shirts may have once been for many Whites, at some point tattered clothes just become … unwearable … no longer a fit. So, I will give those particular White peers one of these crisp, new “Caucasians” t-shirts and ask: How does it feel?