Just a Kid

A few years ago, my daughter in law, Lindsay, bought me a tee shirt which has Just a Kid from Detroit printed on the front. It’s navy blue with orange print. Whenever I wear it, especially in Florida, people comment on it.  They want to know if I’m really from Detroit.  They know I’m not a kid.

It’s a great conversation piece and I usually enjoy the attention I receive because of the shirt.  None of the conversations ever led anywhere until last week.  I wore it to my second cardio drumming class.  You know, the one with the twenty-five women and me.

As soon as I walked into class, a nice-looking woman walked up and asked if I was really from Detroit.  I explained that I grew up in Royal Oak. She said she was originally from Centerline.  I lived in Centerline with my mom and dad in an apartment before we bought the home in Royal Oak.  My parents made a lot of friends there.  That’s where my mom connected with her original pinochle group.  

I didn’t bore the lady with my Centerline recollections. We shared a brief but pleasant few words.

By the time I made it to the back of the room, three more ladies approached me.  Each one made a similar inquiry.  “Was I really from Detroit?”

I explained my history to each one.  “I grew up in Royal Oak, lived in Kalamazoo for twelve years, south of Jackson in the Irish Hills for forty-three, and currently have a condo at a golf resort in Stanwood.  I’ve been there four years.”

They were from Ferndale, Wyandotte and Clawson.  I chatted up the Clawson lady a bit.  We both went to Peppy’s in Clawson.  I dated a girl who lived nearby and went with carloads of friends from time to time.  That’s where I learned that some girls liked tartar sauce with their French fries rather than ketchup. I didn’t share that bit of culinary history with my new friend.

The lady from Ferndale nodded her approval of Peppy’s and the Wyandotte lady took my picture.  After class started, I spotted her shooting a video of me drumming.  It’s probably going to be on her Facebook page.  I hope I never see it.

The attention I received because of my shirt caused me to rethink my wardrobe.  Maybe a need a whole series of shirts.  Who knows where similar conversations made lead.  

There are a couple of websites dedicated to custom Just a Kid tee-shirts. I looked at a couple of the sites.  You tell them what you want, and they’ll print it.  Just a Kid from Kalamazoo might strike some interest.  I wore a shirt from Sault Ste Marie today and that got me nowhere.  I’m contemplating getting a shirt that reads Just a Kid from Kazakhstan to see if I get a reaction but if they asked me to show them where I had lived on a map, I’d be out of luck.  But Kazakhstan sounds cooler than Cleveland.

Just sayin…