Chapter 1 My Shirt Won't Stay Tucked In

It’s early October, but when I awoke today the windows were open and there was an unseasonably benign breeze swirling around me, coupled with a soft and altogether beautiful fuchsine sky that filled the room. And both, quite frankly, belied the inner turmoil that I knew—I just knew—was right around the corner.

You see, today, much like yesterday, and most certainly tomorrow, my shirt won’t stay tucked in.

I usually start off in the morning all nice and neat, looking very proper, but then, all hell breaks loose. It's even more complicated when I wear an undershirt. The two of them, they just get all wrinkled and bunched up—you know, like they desperately want to escape.

I’m pretty sure I’ve never had this problem before. As far back as I can remember everything would stay tucked in. Or maybe I didn't notice I was coming un-tucked back then.

I don’t want word to get out about this, but I’m actually beginning to think there’s something wrong with me at this mid-point in my life. I see other men and their shirts are tucked in without any bits and pieces sneaking out. Women too, come to think of it. All day, as if it’s natural.

Maybe it's my technique. I could tighten my belt, I suppose. So tight, in fact, that nothing would ever come undone. Sure, I wouldn't be able to breathe or feel my lower extremities, especially when I sit down, but hey, my shirt tails would stay put.

Or, I could shop for my shirts at the Big-N-Tall shop. There'd be so much material to work with that I’d never need to worry about it. I’d just tuck the shirt way down to my knees and call it good. The people in the store would undoubtedly ask why someone who is only 5’10” is darkening the door of their store, but I could reply that I’m shopping for my extremely tall uncle. If they ask why I’m actually trying on shirts for my extremely tall uncle, I’ll just explain that we have the same coloring and I want to be absolutely certain that these textiles compliment our mutual visage.

Just using the word visage might convince them to leave me alone.

Of course, if I go this route, too much extra shirt tucked in down there would undoubtedly creep upward throughout the day and this might lead to other questions about whether I stuff my trousers.

But I’ll leave that subject alone.

I guess what I’m really trying to say, in a round about way, is that I want to spend my day un-tucked. I don’t think it’s too much to ask. Still, society and sometimes my dad and usually my boss and unfortunately business decorum as a whole, well, they all instruct me that this is simply unacceptable. At least in my world anyway.

My shirt must be tucked in.

Could this be significant and even representative of everything in my life? Take this faith of mine, for example—this Jesus following thing. You know and I know that it’s always been nice and tucked in, very proper indeed. But lately, all hell seems to be breaking loose.

Still, I look at you, and I get jealous because you seem to have it all together. Could it be that you don’t? Maybe what you thought was natural, what you thought your faith was is getting all bunched up and some kind of holy discontent is taking over and your whole way of going about Christianity is desperately looking for a way to escape.

No, couldn’t be. Push it down. Time to tighten that morality belt. Don't worry about it if you can't breathe. Start the day off right—keep it all in, for anything else would surely render us, shall we say, undone?

Certainly this Jesus we know and love, he would have his shirt pressed and tucked in, right? And so it makes perfect sense that you and I would go to great lengths to perfect our appearance, stuff down any of our ugliness and messiness, shove it well below the surface and call it good. We look great, damn it, nice and neat; we might even deceive others into believing we have it all together, even as we represent someone we’re not—as if our life and our morality and our very tidy essence should compliment some perceived visage of Jesus.

I think I know what this is all about. Somehow, today, much like yesterday, and most certainly tomorrow, the word got out; and the word was, that the Word didn’t care much about all of this stuff.

I’ve got to figure out a way to spend my day un-tucked.