Sockrilege

6:40-something a.m. - the phone rings. Caller ID tells me it is my teenage son who has already left the house to walk the 1/2 mile or so down the lane to where he gets on the school bus. He has forgotten his math book and folder. He wants me to bring them to him before the bus collects him. I know that time is of the essence.

I am wearing a bathrobe and a pair of socks (that I treasure), knit by Michelle. But really there is no time to spare and I don't like to think of what will happen if I have to speed after the bus in just my bathrobe. Not thinking all that much I grab the math book, the folder and my car keys. I run for the car.



Two thoughts go through my mind: It has rained and the ground is wet; I wonder if nylon in socks protects against holes even while walking over rocks. I grit my teeth and speed down the lane. The bus hasn't arrived yet and I pass the forgotten books to my son and drive back up the lane a little more slowly.

I sit in my driveway and wonder if anyone in the house would come to me with a pair of shoes if I honk the horn and flash my lights. I decide it's unlikely. I take a deep breath and walk gingerly back across the rocks to the house hoping that socks are like cats and have nine lives.