I'm bad with socks. I can never keep pairs together, I always seem to get holes in them, and I almost never remember to pack them when I go on a trip.
As a result of my inability to remember socks, I wound up borrowing a lot of your socks over the years when I went out to Port Jeff. You were very good with socks. As a kid, sometimes I'd sit with you while you collected your socks from the dryer, matched each with its pair (I'd help with this part), and rolled them up into little balls.
As an adult, coming home for the weekend, sometimes, I would say "Hey, Dad, I forgot socks. Can I borrow some?" You would look at me with slightly raised eyebrows, as if this were a really big deal, a huge request you had to consider for a minute.
But other times, I'm ashamed to admit, I did not ask you. If you weren't home, I just went into your closet and took socks. They were always paired correctly and never, ever had holes in them. I did make an effort to take socks that seemed replaceable - like white athletic socks - but sometimes I took nicer ones. The nicer ones never fit correctly and would bag up around my foot where they were too big.
Many times, I'd drop these worn socks into the laundry basket in the hallway before I came back to the city. But other times, I wound up taking them home with me. I've stolen so many pairs of socks from you, Dad. I'm sorry! There's no other way to say it, though. I'm a sock thief. Thanks for never reporting me to the authorities.
Love you.
a
P.S. I am making more of an effort with my own socks now. I even have some pairs that have managed to stay together after several rounds of washing...
As a result of my inability to remember socks, I wound up borrowing a lot of your socks over the years when I went out to Port Jeff. You were very good with socks. As a kid, sometimes I'd sit with you while you collected your socks from the dryer, matched each with its pair (I'd help with this part), and rolled them up into little balls.
As an adult, coming home for the weekend, sometimes, I would say "Hey, Dad, I forgot socks. Can I borrow some?" You would look at me with slightly raised eyebrows, as if this were a really big deal, a huge request you had to consider for a minute.
But other times, I'm ashamed to admit, I did not ask you. If you weren't home, I just went into your closet and took socks. They were always paired correctly and never, ever had holes in them. I did make an effort to take socks that seemed replaceable - like white athletic socks - but sometimes I took nicer ones. The nicer ones never fit correctly and would bag up around my foot where they were too big.
Many times, I'd drop these worn socks into the laundry basket in the hallway before I came back to the city. But other times, I wound up taking them home with me. I've stolen so many pairs of socks from you, Dad. I'm sorry! There's no other way to say it, though. I'm a sock thief. Thanks for never reporting me to the authorities.
Love you.
a
P.S. I am making more of an effort with my own socks now. I even have some pairs that have managed to stay together after several rounds of washing...
I have photographic proof of you wearing mis-matched socks just a couple weeks ago. Try harder!
ReplyDeletehahahha - try harder is exactly what Dad would have said!
ReplyDeleteI know it is, that is why I said it. I once had a (very serious) conversation with Dad who was doing his laundry and missing a sock. He asked me "where do you think the socks go, Megs?" He was not joking. We talked about the possibilities but didn't end up with any specific conclusions (how could we? it's one of the great mysteries of the world).
ReplyDelete