Socks
The man showed up at the back door, his hat in his hand and his pride warn on the ground. He said nothing, but his message was clear. He was begging. Grandma told me later, when I was old enough to understand, that he was… “panning”. That was short for panhandling. I note here that she did not say it with any “tone”. It was a fact. A sad fact, but nothing more than that. Yet, this man did not appear to be a vagabond exactly. He was taller than I thought somehow, that he should be?, and way more mature. He had seen great wars, from the hat he held, grasp tightly. WW? I could not read clearly. Yet, I remember. Yes, I was very little but I remember very well the “WW”.
It was cold that December afternoon.
Grandma did not turn him away. She did not say one unkind word. In fact, she smiled warmly and asked him to wait a moment. Grandma then went back into the kitchen. She systematically grabbed a cloth bag from the cupboard. Then, preceded on to the can-cabinet with a graceful, sure step. Quickly without vacillation, she grabbed all things she felt could be considered a “meal in a can”. Tuna, chicken, beans, were among a few of the items she chose. She also put in a couple of cans of milk, she usually spared and saved for cooking. This time…, in they went. Then she headed to the bread box. A fresh loaf was quickly, swiftly and efficiently, scooped into the sturdy, material sack. Not to be forgotten, she crossed the final tiles on the floor to the big jar on the counter. There she lifted the lid and grabbed a great handful of heaven. They were the very best cookies made this side of any line you cared to draw.
As if this was not her first time, she was on a mission. Having handled the needs of the stomach, grandma pondered only a beat. Then, she headed for the living room. There she gazed about and found the bible on the table. It was worn, but the words were all that meant anything. The paper and binding were, just a vessel for the truth. A smile played about her lips. The lovely old book, the worn treasure, had been given to her. Now she was going to pass it on. What a wonderful gift. A traveling reminder of God’s great presence, held in hand. It was not her only bible, by any means, just one of many. It was special as it had been “handed” one friend to the next. Perhaps he would pass it on as well, once he had found use of it…and worn the pages a bit more, or so her heart chided. By then and God willing, the man’s whole life could be changed. That gave the woman a pleasant smile, saved for the Lord alone.
It was not polite to keep the man long, and grandma knew as much. She headed back to the kitchen. One last stop…
The hall. The closet, the unknown place of wonder, or so I thought. When grandma went there she always came back with exactly what was needed, and for a small kid, it was also, “usually” what we wanted. In she went. In our home, that small room was her domain. She kept things there, to share… and more. I watched her from the place I stood in the kitchen, waiting. The door opened again and she came out. The bag was just a bit fuller. A good jacket, one of grandpa’s better ones, hung over her arm.
Time moved fast, and slow and altogether funny at the same time. That is the way we remember things when we are small. Suddenly grandma was talking to the man and then he turned to leave. I was very young, but I was old enough. Grandma dropped something on the kitchen floor. I went to pick it up. It was a pair of clean…, new…, socks. Knowing the man was long of leg and surely would be gone, I ran to the screen and called, “you forgot the socks”.
The man turned back to see me, standing in the door. I opened the screen and ran across the powdered snow in my bare feet. “Sir, these are for you.” The man’s smile was huge.
“Thank you.” His face shown, bright. He had already put on grandpa’s coat. He looked just like grandpa, brave and strong. I already thought he looked like a hero, but now perhaps he thought better thoughts about himself too … He appeared different, somehow even taller? The man turned and was gone.
After that my grandmother would send me a pair of socks for Christmas the rest of my whole life. That is until she died. I buy a pair now and give them away (several if I can) to shelters and those on the street. I do it for the same reason, every year since, and pray to pass this tradition to my children.
Kindness, generosity, and love are taught. Teach well.
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