Sock it to me

At my house, fashion is strictly observed by only the male family members. It's a varied and complicated thing, and the only rule of thumb seems to be that more is more.

For example, take socks. A seemingly simple article of clothing, especially when it comes to boys. My nephews don whatever socks they can find; the socks don't have to be clean or matching, they just have to be readily available. They are a necessary evil.

Not so with Mark. He's got a whole rule-book on what kind of socks to wear and when to wear them.

I bought him a couple 10-packs of your average boy's socks, and he rebelled. He didn't want socks that went above his ankle. So I bought him ankle socks. He liked them so much, he stole all of mine to increase his collection.

The ankle socks are great because they go with everything Mark wears: high-top sneakers, dress shoes, pants, suits, or pajamas. There's nothing better than a flash of pale white ankle to break up the monotony of navy pants and black shoes.

When he runs out of ankle socks, he simply takes the awful calf-high socks and folds them halfway across his foot so you can't see them. Apparently, he's trying to single-handedly resurrect the sock-free Miami Vice look. (I'll draw the line at five o'clock shadow!)

However, when he wears shorts, the exact opposite rule goes into effect. With shorts, Mark doesn't hide his socks; just the opposite. He regularly leaves the house like this, reminding me of an old-school newsboy in short pants and knee-high socks:



He loves to wear his soccer socks with shorts, yanking and tugging at them until they go over his knees. The brighter, the better, and he doesn't limit himself to only matching colors. I find it ironic that the boy who could never once find his soccer socks during the soccer season can now pull a matching pair out of the dresser on command.

My friend Edra described it best when she said, "Man, there's no middle ground with that guy. It's either all or nothing, knee-highs or no socks at all..."

She's right.

He's got a unique sense of fashion

Mark has always been obsessed with clothes, and he definitely has his own sense of style. This style includes wearing shorts with long, brightly-colored soccer socks (the very same socks he can never find during soccer season -- he once wore one black sock and one maroon sock during a game).

So he was thrilled when I won a gift bag at the recent firemen's lunch. I was hoping to win during the part of the raffle where they had cool prizes, like golf clubs or gift cards. Instead, I won during the phase where they gave gift bags filled with random things. Mine included a calculator, some Fig Newtons, a whistle, a scarf, and some knitted yellow booties. But it was the last prize that thrilled Mark most.

"Socks!" he yelled triumphantly, pulling them from the bag. He was even more excited when he saw Mickey Mouse adorning them, and immediately whipped off his own shoes and socks.

However...while I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth...they did have a minor flaw. They were size 13-15. That's right, professional basketball player size. (Not that I've seen a lot of NBA stars wearing Mickey Mouse socks.)

Mark didn't care. He put them on backwards, so the heel popped out midway up his shin. He pulled them up, proclaimed them perfect, and smiled happily at me.





As he should. Because hey, he rocked those socks as well as any pro baller!

That's an understatement

Back to school is a terrible time for Mark -- because it really means back to school uniforms. For a kid who loves expressing himself through clothes, there could be no fate worse than being forced to dress like everyone else.

I thought he'd eventually realize this is a battle he can't win, and is therefore not worth fighting. It's not the first (or last) time I've been wrong.

Today's clothing battle was over socks. I'm in the camp that firmly believe socks are best when clean; Mark is in the opposing camp. Kathleen recently bought him a new pair of Tony Hawk socks that he loved so much, he wore them three days in a row. Straight. Without washing. And argued indignantly when I ordered them into the hamper. (And cried, "Ewwww, my feet STINK!" when he finally peeled them off.)

He informed me today that he had two different socks on.

"They don't match?" I asked him.

"Nope," he answered. "They never match. In fact, that word isn't even in my vocabulary."

I smiled and agreed. "Well, is 'clean' in your vocabulary?"

"Yes," he answered, though I had my doubts. He glanced over at me, and shook his head, wondering how I dared to ask him such a preposterous question.

"What?" I asked. "I have to check!"

He just shook his head again, and sighed.

"Let's go," I said, and we headed off to school, me and my son with the limited vocabulary.