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I am a Twins fan and I asked for a Joe Mauer jersey a few years ago for Christmas. On Christmas morning, I opened the box and there it was – a #7 Twins jersey, just like I wanted. I took it out of the box and turned it around to check out the back. The name on the back read "MAWER". I turns out my mom ordered the jersey from an unlicensed website in China.
My parents divorced when I was in my early teens. My mom soon got remarried and while my new stepdad tried to show an interest in me, he obviously was clueless. For example, I took up golf when I was 16. For Christmas that year, my stepdad got me a nice new driver. Unfortunately it was a right-handed driver and I'm left-handed. He probably should have known this because he took me golfing a few weeks before. This was slightly better than my 16th birthday when he got me a Saints jersey. The Saints are my favorite team. Good gift. Except the jersey was a women's-cut jersey.
I'm huge Philadelphia Eagles fan and have been for 20 years. I live in Canada and its cold. My mom bought me a Dallas Cowboys winter jacket in 1993. Rather than wear that abomination, I gave it to my 75 year-old uncle that didn't know any better and I froze for the winter.
I grew up in Richmond, a few hours south of the nation's capital, where my mother was, and still is, a special ed teacher. Every summer, she would fly from Richmond to Chicago with another teacher, rent a car, and drive to southern Wisconsin to do some sort of testing for special ed students there.
My little brother Timothy became a Chicago White Sox fan at an early age, ever since he saw Frank Thomas win the Home-Run Derby on television all those years ago. Having some extra time while in Chicago on one of her trips, my mother stopped into a shop and bought Tim a hat. When she returned and gave him the hat he was confused, saying that it was not a White Sox hat. My mother exclaimed: "It's black with a white 'W', and I bought it in Chicago, the home of the team."
Tim said, "No, it's very dark blue, not black. This is a Nationals hat, not a White Sox hat."
Mom cried, "How am I supposed to be able to tell the difference between black and very dark blue? This is needlessly confusing."
While grateful that our mother had taken the time to find a fitted hat in the correct size, Timothy showed Mom that she had failed to notice that the word "Nationals" was sewn into the rear of the hat, meaning that my mother had flown half-way across the country and still bought a hat for the lousy, local club.
My family didn't have a lot of money growing up. My mom made a lot of our clothes. This includes the Christmas of 1994 when she sewed me a Larry Johnson Hornets jersey.
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