only the best sleuth in history could solve. I can just imagine
Dr. Watson as he immortalizes the mystery as another tale of
Holmes' amazing detective work. He would call it, "The Mystery
of the Missing Shirt."
I have this white golfer's shirt that I absolutely love the wear
all the time. Part of the appeal is that it's over-sized, which
makes it so comfortable on days when I just don't want to wear
This shirt also has a special design that makes it important to
me. A deaf-blind friend created the design. It shows a picture
of a hand using Print-on-Palm to communicate with another hand.
The caption says, "Talk to the hand. I'm deaf-blind."
I've had this shirt for four years. I usually wear it once a
week during Spring, Summer and Fall. I get many compliments when
I'm out wearing this shirt. It's also my designated "airplane"
shirt. I wear it any time I'm flying alone. That way the
airport staff knows I'm deaf-blind, and they have a model of
how to communicate with me. There are no excuses.
I wore the shirt sometime in May, threw it down the clothes
chute and never saw it again. I've been very upset. I want my
shirt back! My father would bring up laundry each week, and I'd
be so sure the shirt would be there. But, no, it was gone --
disappeared without a trace.
Frustrated and annoyed, I would be forced to wear my purple polo
instead. It's a little big, too. But it's just purple and not
special in anyway.
I finally had enough! Yesterday, I was wearing the purple polo
again and decided that I would find my white shirt no matter
what! I emailed my father about it. He said he couldn't
remember ever seeing that shirt. Excuse me? I've only worn it
a million time. How could he not remember it?
As it turned out, he was the one to solve the case. About an
hour latter, he came up to me. Keep in mind that my dad can't
sign. Joseph and my mother were not around to interpret. He did
his best to deliver his message. First, he grabbed the sleeve
of my purple shirt and kept tugging at it. I guessed, "shirt."
He indicated yes.
I thought about it. "You found my missing shirt?," I asked.
He just kept tugging at my sleeve. Then he started touching it
with his index finger, as if pointing.
Bewildered, I said, "This is my missing shirt." He indicated
yes with a lot of excitement.
I shook my head and said, "No, this is my purple shirt." He
indicated no many times.
I asked, "This is my white golfer's shirt with the hand design?"
He again indicated yes with enthusiasm.
Somehow, someone pinned the clothes marker for purple on my
beloved white shirt. Apparently I've been wearing the shirt all
summer long and never knowing it.
How ironic that I would start the search for the missing shirt on
the very day I was wearing it. Maybe I don't need Sherlock Homes