I thought about my little boy socks.
It was the late seventies and eighties and frankly, little boy clothes were
pretty basic. I do remember walking into Six Flags Great America with my father
and sister, or at least I remember the picture my mother took of us walking into
the park. She took the picture from behind us as we walked around and there I
am, in a matching grey tee-shirt/shorts set wearing black socks with my gym
shoes, trying to keep pace with the long strides of my father’s adult legs. It’s
clear in the picture I was taking very large steps. The thing that always stood
out for me in that picture though was my black socks contrasted with my very pale
Irish little boy legs.
I remember being a little older and
going outside one Sunday morning before church to put my shoes and socks on. I
don’t remember why I thought it was a good idea to put my socks and shoes on
while sitting on the cement front porch steps. Although it was a very warm
Spring day and I think I just wanted to be outside before the drudgery of
Church. An hour at Church back then was like a quarter of my life at the time,
being so young and all. I remember trying to pull my sock on with the dexterity
of a child, unfamiliar with the operations of my own fingers, and I somehow
missed putting the white sock on and I scraped my heel on the cement step,
cutting it open pretty decently. I gashed it enough that I had to hobble back
into the house and deal with my father’s anger as he frowned at the medical
care he had to provide, right before we had to go to Church on Sunday morning.
It’s no wonder I have such a problem with minor inconveniences in my own life.
I remember all the pairs of Navy
Blue socks I had for Catholic School. The socks had to match the Navy blue
school uniforms of course. Except on gym days, that’s when you had to remember
to wear tube socks. If you forgot your white socks you looked like a dweeb
running around the gym with gym shoes and navy blue socks. It was a terrible
source of embarrassment back then. It seemed somehow that the teachers shamed
you for not remembering the very simple task of bringing the correct color
socks for gym days. They never actually said
anything, but the look of, “Oh well, looks like that one isn’t college material”,
was plain on their pious faces.
Dress socks then entered the history
book of my socks. I had to wear them in high school since the environment was
what we now call business casual. We had to wear dress shoes and of course only
dress socks would do. My high school drawers were filled with all kinds of dark
colored socks. I was also coming into my own identity then and I started to
have a taste in what I should wear. Right down to my feet. I started getting
more novelty type socks. Maybe they had skulls on them like the skate boarders
would wear or very specific Christmas reindeer on them for the holidays. I had
so many socks then.
I started wearing combat boot
regularly in high school and then dress socks didn’t seem so important. I
started getting toughed toed and heeled socks to put up with the rigorous
demands we put on our feet. My friends and I walked everywhere in our combat
boots. Miles meant nothing to us and all summer we would spend on the streets,
going from house to house, walking the train tracks, running away from junk
yard dogs, or getting chased by the occasional neighborhood gang. I had so many
socks that seemed to wear out almost as fast as I got them.
College socks were pretty similar to
high school socks for the most part. I picked up a few thermal types for the
long cold winters commuting from the buses to the trains to get to school
downtown and the long late nights of drinking to excess with my upper classmates.
I was always the youngest in my classes, the fun classes anyway. I was still
wearing combat boots then and there wasn’t a need for any radical change to my
socks. Although there were college girls to impress and if the moment ever came
when I would have to maybe take my shoes off, I certainly didn’t want to be
remembered for having stinky and holy socks in front of the sexy Swedish girl.
The business world finally arrived
and I had to abandon the combat boots and return to the era of dress socks. You
think that it is important that your feet are covered appropriately in the many
cubicled office world, but soon you discover that no one gives a damn. No one
is looking at your socks. So you return to the classic white athletic sock with
your dress shoes. It’s not nerdy if your pants hang over your ankles. It’s only
nerdy if you were wearing flood pants.
20 years went by of the same types
of socks; office appropriate socks, dress socks, funeral socks, suit socks,
wedding socks, christening socks, holiday socks, warm socks, ankle socks,
summer socks. So many that after a while
you realize you have two drawers filled with socks. You don’t have anything
else in such quantities as socks. So you purge and get rid of them, the holy
ones, the threadbare ones, the mismatches, the ones that always bothered your
right big toe for some reason. And still, there are way too many socks.
Today, as I stood at my top sock
drawer, trying to match my socks I realized the immense quantity of
ankle/summer socks I now am in possession of. I never used to have so many. I
have so many summer socks now that finding regular socks is a problem. When did
I get so many short summer socks? I think she told me that I looked silly in
regular athletic socks with my gym shoes and shorts, so I caved and bought more
ankle socks than I know what to do with.
I found a mismatch pair of tube
socks. It is winter after all and ankle socks don’t quite work in this weather.
I laid the socks out on my bed next to
my tee-shirt and boxers in preparation for my shower. They are still sitting
there as I’m writing this.
The History of my Socks is quiet a
story. In fact, it’s almost like cutting a large tree down and counting the
rings of its growth. My sock evolution, all of our sock evolutions, is simply
amazing. We’ve all grown, all changed, all became something different than what
those little baby socks could have ever imagined. The History of our socks is
the history of us all. (If you wear socks, although I suppose not wearing socks is important for some
too. I’m just not a sandal wearer.)