My family shivers the colors of the rainbow. My sister has chosen red, a colored sweatshirt representing her new life in college, a life so much different than the one she lead before. Mine is oversized, a sweatshirt stolen from my father that lets me hide from the haunting cold air. My father wears a sweatshirt that fits perfectly as he wraps me in hugs, one that is just as warm as his smile.

My mother wears a sweatshirt that has been around for years. Holes cover the tattered gray surface, nearly removing the name of a college that she never went to. Fray peeks out from her torso, threatening to tear away with every movement. The sweatshirt wears thin, revealing the hidden purple of her pajamas she wears underneath. The soft, white fluff of our dog’s hair mingles with the fibers of the fabric, as he demands her constant contemplation. Her sweatshirt soaks up her complaints from her day of work, and provides her the comfort of home. Her sweatshirt consults me with a warm hug, and drapes an arm over me as we watch television on the couch. Her sweatshirt is full of happy memories sewn into a tattered gray surface.