I Got My Faith… and My Quarter Zip

 I have reached the stage of life where too many of my friends share the same name. Any sentence that begins with “Mark says” is immediately interrupted by Liessa and my daughter, Rachel, who ask without hesitation, “Which Mark?” After enough of these exchanges, a small but necessary decision was made. In my writing, my neighbor would be called Big Mark. This designation exists purely for narrative clarity. It does not apply to real-life conversation. He has now been informed. 

Big Mark is the kind of neighbor who sends a line in passing, not realizing it may linger longer than intended. The message arrived yesterday, meant as humorous mental stimulation drawn from a larger conversation that had begun weeks earlier. 

“I got my faith… and my quarter zip.” 

The phrase landed in the middle of something my college-aged grandchildren had been introducing me to over Christmas break. They came home ready to educate me, phones in hand, eager to show me what they were seeing on YouTube and Instagram. What emerged was a distinct campus culture among educated Black men. Quarter zips are worn intentionally, layered over a dress shirt and tie. Clean sneakers. Pressed trousers. A matcha in hand. 

This was not fashion for effect. It was posture. The quarter zip had replaced the tie as the visible layer, but not the seriousness underneath. It communicated formation without rigidity and confidence without spectacle. It felt post modern, but not unanchored. 

I found it genuinely interesting. There was dignity in it. A calm sense of belonging that did not feel loud or defensive. Identity was being expressed through restraint rather than excess. 

At some point, curiosity tipped into participation. I selected a quarter zip from my own closet, wore it over a dress shirt and tie, and recorded a short video expressing appreciation for what I was seeing. It felt light and playful, a moment of generational cross talk. I posted it on Instagram and moved on. 

Days passed. And, Nicole, Big Mark’s wife, saw it on Instagram. 

Big Mark’s text arrived yesterday amidst a number of things we are discussing. 

“I got my faith… and my quarter zip.” 

At first, it landed as nothing more than a clever jab. Then it lingered. Was there a thread here, or was I doing what I often do, tracing meaning where humor was content to remain humor? 

That question stayed with me long enough that I called Big Mark this morning to give him a heads up. It felt like the responsible thing to do before turning him into a named presence on the page. He laughed. I explained the naming decision. Too many Marks. Too many clarifications. Narrative necessity. He’s probably on pins and needles in anticipation of a reflection masterpiece with said person, Big Mark, in it. 

That conversation clarified something for me. The point was never the quarter zip. It was not even the phrase. It was the ease of relationship that allowed humor to land without defensiveness. Belonging that did not require explanation or protection. 

Symbols are not shallow by default. They often communicate identity, orientation, and formation. The danger comes when symbols quietly replace the work they are meant to point toward. Faith can slip into this same space. Not cynically. Not falsely. Simply and conveniently. It can become something we wear well rather than something that reshapes us. 

I will keep the quarter zip. But faith was never meant to be curated or displayed as proof of alignment. It was meant to be lived, practiced, and trusted into. Anything that replaces that work, however harmless it appears, eventually asks to carry a weight it cannot hold. 

Copyright © 2026 Ron Randle. 

All rights reserved. This reflection is the original work of the author and may not be reproduced, distributed, or published without prior written permission, except for brief quotations used for noncommercial or personal purposes.