Friday, December 30, 2011


My whole life, I've put my socks on a certain way. I simply pulled them on: toes in the opening, the rest follows naturally. If the sock were inside-out, I'd half turn it the right way out, then whack the balled up sock in my hand, like a poi. People have teased me for this. I see that it's not ideal, though it gets the job done.
My whole life, my dad has put his socks on a certain way. Starting with the sock inside-out, he makes a dent in the toes, and pulls it back over his foot, inverting it as it goes. He stands up; his socks are on.
Recently I changed methods. I adopted the Dad Method. Faced with an inside-out sock, I calmly slide it over my foot, and carry on with my day. No more whacking socks to make them comply. I put on my shoes and leave the house.
As I walk, I wonder if I'd ever been taught a certain method. I was always aware of how my father dressed his feet - had he always been like this? Or was there a point at which his method changed, presumably to that of my poppa. At 27, what did this change mean to me? I was acutely aware of it, though it was seemingly triggered by nothing.
At 27, my dad was a recent father of twins. He'd been married a few years. And he'd been working as a carpenter for close to 10. He was unquestionably a Man. How do I compare? With my life, I feel like a man, though definitely not a Man.
I sit down on the grass at the park, and take off my shoes and socks. I leave the socks, inside-out, on top of my shoes, ready for when I walk home.

1 comment:

  1. This post is so simple but covers so much ground. Great work David!


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