SONNY SCOTT: Gird up thy loins

I am now into my 74th journey around our neighborhood star. By any objective measure, I am an old man. As you might expect, the status comes with a host of disagreeable side effects ranging from the mildly annoying to major irritations. Nevertheless, candor compels me to admit that being old has a few advantages, not the least of which is that I can now dress comfortably every day.

From my earliest memories until age 6, my life was idyllic. I spent my days playing, doing light chores, or tagging along with Daddy. The only insect in the ointment was Sunday, when like moms from time immemorial, Mother tried to make me look presentable for church. Off came the faded overalls, and on went church clothes … those abominable short pants in the warm season and long woolen pants in the cool season. The latter required an accessory that became a misery for the next forty years: underwear.

I have tried to understand the logic of it all. I really don’t want to believe that Mother had a sadistic streak and enjoyed my squirming discomfort, so I’ll blame it on religious fundamentalism. Country Baptists had largely forsaken the Jewish tradition of genital mutilation of boys (whew!), but my Mother obviously interpreted the biblical command to “gird up thy loins” literally. I was forced to wear briefs, which I am convinced were invented by the Marquis de Sade. The cursed things compressed a boy’s personal appendages into a painful package causing squirming, sweating, and in time, the fungus popularly known as “jock itch.” After I started to school, this misery was forced on me Monday thru Friday.

As if that were not enough cross to bear, school brought shoes, and most unforgivably, socks. Now my feet had a fungus to rival the groin. You don’t have to be an athlete to have the foot. If I had invested the money spent on Tinactin, Cruex, tincture of iodine, various Sulphur based concoctions that smelled like a mixture of rotten eggs and overripe onions, etc., my 401(k) would be substantial now.

The whole culture was in on the scam. The school required shoes. I don’t remember socks being mentioned, but they were universal among boys. Girls could wear sandals or loafers without socks. Maybe the administration gave them a break due to certain onerous encumbrances to be imposed on them later. School exacerbated things with “PE,” which meant basketball. For an hour each day, we exercised vigorously and sweated profusely in “tennis shoes,” as sneakers were called then …” athletic shoes” not yet invented. We wore thick white cotton socks designed to wick the moisture away. Might have helped had we not put our shoes on over wet socks and clothes on sweat drenched bodies. We had no lockers in the dressing room, only a hook on the wall. My shoes were often “borrowed” by high school players, along with my practice shorts. I tell you; I was a petri dish with pimples.

What’s this got to do with old age? About age 40, I discovered boxer shorts and burned the tighty whiteys. At 65, I learned the world does not end if you go without socks. This glorious summer, I discovered the genius of Crocs. The skinny old man you see in faded overalls, oversized tee shirt, and Crocs may be me. Be advised, you can have my Crocs only when you pull them from my cold, dead, fungus-free feet.

SONNY SCOTT is a community columnist who lives in the Sparta community of Chickasaw County. Readers can contact him at sonnyscott@yahoo.com.