Lessons from the Sock Basket

Success doesn't always translate into a match

There are many similarities that run in big families. They are shared traits and always seem to be present in our chaotic homes. Now, that’s not to say smaller families don’t also have these commonalities, they do, just not on nearly as grand of a scale. Example number two hundred and sixteen: the sock basket. Most American homes have these little hosiery orphanages somewhere on the premesis and they are necessary in order to navigate the inevitable world of misplaced socks. It’s a concept predicated on hope, kind of like purgatory for socks. We feverishly search for the perfect cotton counterpart to a rogue sock from our dresser and usually have to settle for a sock that could at best pass as a stunt double.

The amount of socks needed for eighteen feet was astronomical and the tragedy of sock separation was all too common in our home. Every style imagineable could be found in that tan rectangular basket with a cracked handle when it wasnt being used to slide down the steps by either my brother or me. Growing up in the seventies and eighties the choices of socks varied. From those white knee high socks that my sisters had to wear with their uniforms at St. Luke’s to the classic tube socks with different colored stripes, it was a cornucopia of every style imaginable. The worst were those “lazy socks” where the elastic had quit from being worn so much. Those guys were sock basket “lifers” destined to spend the rest of their days being hopelessly unmatchable.

Having to battle the sock basket was a task that would put the searcher through a gamut of emotions that resulted in either the sheer joy of reuniting a pair or utter dejection in failing to do so. Looking back now, the sock basket taught me some invaluable lessons along the way. Chief among them being:

• How to handle pressure. Ok, Ok. I know that the quest for a matching pair of socks isn’t exactly life or death, but for those type A personalities out there, not having the same socks on both feet throws an immediate wrinkle into the day which can affect everything that happens from that point on. Luckily, I am not one of those people, which leads me to the next point.

• Disparities in life are unavoidable but acceptable. Not everything can be compatible or even consistent. Too often we don’t have enough time to make sure they are. Sometimes, the ankle socks with two different colored toe stripes will just have to do.

• People are not paying nearly as close attention as you think. You might think someone notices that you have on two separate socks, but they don’t. My dad used to say, “If people are looking at my socks then they are missing the best part of me.” We tend to believe our imperfections will be magnified and so we worry for no reason.

• Function matters way more than form. At the end of the day as long as you have two of them, they keep your feet warm, and prevent your shoes from aquiring that nasty odor, nothing else really matters.

• Miracles can happen. No better example of this was the day my brother discovered the two other matches to the mismatched socks he had been wearing all day on our mother’s feet as she was reading a book on the living room couch. I mean what are the chances?

There is an old expression, Close only counts in horshoes and hand grenades. Translation: Being nearly successful or accurate is not the same as being successful or accurate. It doesn’t matter if you lost by a bucket at the buzzer, you still lost. Well, not in the sock basket world. It’s sorting though this vessel we first learn that life is beautifully imperfect and close enough is acceptable. It should have a place of honor in every home. Above all the sock basket should make us grateful for the little things, like pants.