Sometimes, the colors we choose can mean more than just a sports team; they can represent our identity. I learned this valuable lesson while waiting at Boston’s Logan International Airport with my family.
As I browsed through some Red Sox margarita glasses, my five-year-old son, Jamie, marched up to me, eyes wide with determination. “Mom!” he exclaimed, eyeing my stash. “I’m done with the Red Sox!”
I felt as though he had just declared his dislike for pizza or ice cream. “What do you mean?” I asked, stunned.
With his hands on his hips, he declared, “I need a Yankees hat!”
Even though we live in sunny Colorado, my family in New England has always sent my boys Red Sox gear—baseball caps, mitts, and matching shirts in red, blue, and grey. I hadn’t realized that Jamie often wore his twin brother, Leo’s, Red Sox items instead.
When they were born, they looked so alike that I panicked when my husband removed their hospital wristbands. How would I tell them apart? I resorted to color-coding their outfits. Leo wore red or orange, and Jamie donned blue or green. Their identical strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes made it easy for me, and later, they continued to stick to their prescribed colors.
At preschool, their friends referred to them as “JamieLeo,” which didn’t help anyone. The twins were unfazed, and we adults found it adorable.
As they grew older, a favorite aunt introduced them to checkers using a set adorned with mini Red Sox and Yankees helmets. I didn’t think much of it, given that Jamie often played as the blue and white team.
But here he was, demanding a Yankees hat in the heart of Red Sox territory. Heads turned in our direction like we had just caused a ruckus in the store. I set down my glasses, feeling the weight of my son’s words.
In that moment, I contemplated a few drastic measures to hush him up. But instead, I knelt before him and said, “Honey, remember we’re Sox fans?”
“No, Mommy!” he insisted. “I love the Yankees!”
I could feel the chuckles of onlookers behind me. Just then, Leo came running in his Red Sox cap, curious about the commotion. The store’s atmosphere shifted.
“Oh my gosh, are they twins?” the clerk asked, amazed. “How do you tell them apart?”
“Simple,” chimed in a passerby. “One’s a Sox fan, and the other likes the Yankees? That’s just wrong!”
I looked at Leo in his red and white striped shirt and then back at Jamie, clad in blue and white. Suddenly, it clicked. This wasn’t about baseball—it was about a little boy trying to carve out his own identity.
Caught up in my own need to make life easier for everyone, I hadn’t considered how frustrating it must be for them to be bundled together as “JamieLeo.” Jamie didn’t want to wear Red Sox attire; he wanted to stand out from his brother.
So, I swallowed my pride about the Yankees and found him a hat at our local Target. I also made a point to arrange individual playdates for them and worked on teaching our friends how to tell them apart—Leo is a tad taller, and Jamie’s eyes are slightly closer together.
In the end, I even supported Jamie’s choice to cheer for the Jets over the Patriots (he saved up for a green Jets sweatshirt that he wears all the time). Little did he know that in New York, Yankees fans typically root for the Giants. But if we told him, I can imagine his response: “That’s okay; there’s some red in those Giants uniforms—that’s Leo’s color!”
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Summary
This heartfelt story reflects how a child’s choice in sports gear can symbolize their quest for individuality, especially in the context of being a twin. It highlights the importance of understanding and supporting our children’s desires to express themselves, even if it means stepping outside of our comfort zones.