the black socks

It was the first thing I noticed as I walked down the steps to the bleachers. Lucas was working out with his team, locks flowing out of his helmet just like he wants, warming up before his football game. Everyone was dressed out in their blue and gold, right down to the socks. Except Lucas. His were black. 

The wrong socks. On game day. I panicked and tried to remember when and where I’d seen the blue socks last. Surely, everything had been washed and packed for today’s game. I immediately sent Chris to shout-whisper to Lucas over the fence and figure it out. Did I need to run back home and search? Could I get to a sporting goods store and back in time? Do you think I’m insane yet? I’m a coach’s daughter. The uniform is sort of a thing for me.

Turns out, he had packed the right socks. They were lying in the top of his gym bag, perfect for the picking. One of his teammates had apparently forgotten his own socks and quickly remedied the situation. Lucas didn’t let it bother him. He just shrugged his shoulders as he explained, and then he rejoined his team. Meanwhile, I sat and stewed for a moment. Should I believe him? Should I canvass the bleachers and find out which family didn’t take inventory of their own gym bag? Should I really be judging other parents and their kids right now? But the socks are school-issued. How would we get a replacement pair? And then I spotted her. The photographer. It was picture day! Wrong socks on picture day?! Surely, I’d never recover.

But then I did. We sat with a sweet family who whooped and hollered the entire time. We snapped photos of the twins enjoying the cheerleaders’ routines. We waited for Lucas to come out of the locker room, bringing up the rear as always. I asked him to mention the socks to his coach, who gave him another pair without incident. We all rode to dinner together and laughed and joked and loved on each other.

Because it’s not about the socks.