Sure, we live in an age where the next technological marvel is right around the corner, but let’s talk underwear.
My generation, just as those before us, looked to our fathers for inspiration. My Dad wore white briefs and so I did, too. As I recall in the locker room, before and after practice, everyone wore “tighty-whities,” some less white than others but all briefs, all white. And there the new ones came, every December 25th, stuffed into the Christmas stocking. I suppose there were those at the time who wore boxers but they flew way under the radar and must have changed into their street clothes in a darkened corner, after all their team mates had left…
My own sons followed by example for only a brief (pun intended) time. Preston early on went to boxers and not the ones from my youth, bought at Omar the Tent Maker’s, but the stylish, colored kind with the label coolly placed on the outside of the band, in the front! Geez, he looks good in them. His younger brother naturally followed suit and I tried to understand. I did understand.
Flashback to three mornings ago and there, in my stocking, is the annual pack of briefs. But get this, they’re COLORED briefs. Oohs and aahs all around and yesterday I sported the first pair. Such a nice contrast to my pale, even-paler, winter skin. If I suck in my stomach, it’s almost mildly impressive.
Rest in peace, Dad. I can’t go back to the white briefs we used to wear and, oh, I voted for Obama, twice. But I know how to use jumper cables, thanks to you and my tools hang in orderly fashion on peg board, just like yours did. You were a great Dad, in many ways but Preston and Cooper, with Michele’s support, have shown me the way.