Sometimes we take the little everyday things of life for granted. Because they are always there, they seem unimportant. The opposite should be true. Our daily use should establish them at the top of our possessions list. One of these unappreciated necessities is socks. We all have a drawer full of them, and we seldom think about them unless we want a missing pair or a specific color. Only then do we understand the power of socks.
Our socks definitely play into our attitude for the day. Putting on a new pair in the morning signals a good day. Just knowing that your big toe isn’t going to poke through a hole or that the top isn’t going to creep down an ankle and form a lump under your instep puts an added bounce in your step. They are to be relished, especially when compared with times when socks had to make it to the end of the year, or Christmas, or whenever there were enough dollars left over to buy a pack at J.C. Penneys. Women, not just my mother and grandmothers, darned socks. For us, that meant that they inserted a darning egg into the sock and positioned it in the heel or the toe. Then, they wove course cotton thread back and forth until the hole was filled. The patches were horrible, an entirely different feeling from the soft wool or blended yarn of the rest of our foot covering. It didn’t stretch or shrink like the rest of the material so it made a little tumor-like bag. I preferred to fold the toe fabric back and deal with the lump that created on top, or to just get used to my heel sweating against the inside of my shoe. Of course, that didn’t deter Mom from her appointed duty until, one day, sock darning became a thing of the past.
In attempts to create the perfect sock, styles change constantly. As a little girl, my favorite anklets, as they were called, were white angora. They were super soft and made my feet appear to be enshrouded in a cloud. I only had a few of pairs of them, probably because they were too expensive, even for a birthday present. To go with Easter and Christmas dresses, little girls sported socks with lacy cuffs to fold down to their patent leather Mary Janes. Mostly though, my childhood socks were purchased in packages of two white pairs, accompanied by a pair each of yellow, pink, lilac, and light blue. Their tops were meshed with elastic so that they clung to my ankles whether they were folded down or pulled up. Boys, on the other hand, wore socks that were replicas of those found in the men’s department, always dark in color, sometimes with stripes or argyle designs, basically boring.
In junior high we were introduced to nylons. They were coveted–expensive (sometimes over a dollar a pair), grown-up, and sooo perishable. We wore them to church and school dances where we sat and walked carefully lest we create a runner and render our nylons useless. In high school we wore them more often, on days planned ahead with our friends, but never on P.E. days (for obvious reasons). Often we wore nylons with canvas tennis shoes that we had soaked in white shoe polish. Our flesh/ecru/taupe/tan ankles met up with pasty whiteness, and we fancied ourselves just returned from hours at the beach. A tiny part of us had to know that we were ridiculous, but mostly we believed that we were extremely stylish.
The next great sock innovation was knee-highs made of heavier opaque nylon used in tights. They were dressier than white anklets, smoother than woolen blend knee-highs with woven patterns, and far more durable than nylons. They came in red, green, black, brown, navy, really any color, and declared a private-school-girl style with our revolutionary mini skirts. Maybe the best thing about them was their practicality; only a few inches of knee and lower thigh was exposed to the negative wind chills as we hoofed our way around campus.
About this same time, panty hose came on the fashion scene. This coincided with the women’s lib movement, bra-burning, and Gloria Steinem. Panty hose were classy and comfortable, a concept heretofore unimportant. No one ever really talked about girdle- burning, though more of them went in the trash in the 1960’s than did bras. However, panty hose hit the pocketbook. In attempts to make them last longer, we employed clear nail polish to stifle runs and sprayed hair spray over our shimmering legs to make the sheer nylon tougher. Since a run in one leg could cancel out the entire pair, we quickly learned to cut the tattered leg off and unite it with a different pair that was missing the other leg, creating twice the wear with only a little extra bulk. But however much it cost, panty hose ended the days of garters and girdles. (Today’s body shapers in no way compare to a garment that took all your arm strength to wedge over your thighs and rear, and sported plastic and wire stays that changed how you sat and walked.)
Now we have graduated to a much more practical state. Sheer hosiery is rarely worn; bare legs are totally acceptable. Socks today are more decorative in color and seasonal print but donned for warmth and comfort. Style is important in an athletic sense, but even having mismatched socks is fine. Apparently, no one besides me cares. Socks really are on the bottom rung of the style ladder.
Still, socks have a place in our family folklore. My grandmother ironed socks for my grandfather. My grandfather actually wore men’s garters around his calves. One of the main speeches for our graduation practice was to demand that no Manning High School graduating senior male would show up at the official ceremony wearing white, Elvis-esque socks. With a family of six kids just having all socks come out of the dryer with a mate was a rare occasion, almost cause for celebration. And summer, of course, meant no more socks to wash and match for a few months as tennis shoes and flip flops demanded nothing.
When son Jafe was two or three years old, my sister Cindy sent him a package of tube socks. (Remember those shapeless cylinders that could be worn out evenly because there was no designated heel.) He relished his six pairs of soft new socks in various colors with two little stripes near the top. Now, he was not just an athlete like his older siblings, he was a proud owner of something unique and special. For a few weeks he played with his new socks, wore them on his hands, and used them for puppets. He took them with him to the babysitter and shared them with other kids if they were nice. In his high school psychology class he used them as his example of a meaningful childhood experience, which became a legend repeated yearly by the teacher. Those socks, still to be found in Jafe’s treasure chest, were more than apparel.
Then socks became a means of identification on the football fields where my Weems boys played. While other parents had to see jersey numbers, I could pick out my kid by seeing the stripes on his socks. It took some carefully planned shopping but was worth it in the end. Even when team socks became the mode, my sons squished the high tops down around their ankles and played bare-legged. I may never have learned the nuances of the game, but I knew every move my sons made.
As my offspring moved on to college and to life outside of my realm, I kept in touch with packages bearing letters and seasonal socks. I mailed socks around the country and imagined them actually being worn. I only gave up on this when I visited Heather one time and found so many pairs of black socks with orange jack-o-lanterns and red socks with sparkling snowflakes and bells that her little sons were wearing them year around. I, however, still feel festive when my feet are decked out for the season.
Nowadays my sock distribution is at Christmas. Nothing says “I love you” like a package of socks–wool, athletic, or dress–fit for the climate and activities of the recipient. They may not be much of a gift at the opening moment, but as I said before, new socks have the power to change your day. If I can supply the catalyst that improved someone’s grip on life, even for a moment, I want to be there, soft, warm, and snuggly, almost as good as a hug.
Thoughts on Everything 