Oh, Jeanne, what an amazing story. Thank you for sharing. I remember I gave a reading in 1993 in a shopping mall bookstore in Cleveland Heights. I read in the hallway outside the store in front of a bridal shop display window that featured a RED wedding dress!
This made me smile and remember my own Dad and "socks" on my wedding day. I was married in a hurry at age 17. My 18 year old fiancee flew a "red eye" back from army training camp to meet me at the altar. This was not the wedding I'd expected as the "very good girl", star pupil and debater, and catechism teacher. But the night before my high school boyfriend left for the military, in the middle of the Vietnam War, we "went all the way". I discovered I was pregnant by going to the library. The reproductive system had been removed from our small town high school biology books. No white dress for me, Mom insisted on "pink" and "pink" it was. Back to those socks! As we were leaving the house to head to our small Catholic Church I noticed my Dad's socks - BRIGHT RED! "Oh my God, Dad! How could you do this to me on my wedding day? I'll be mortified! Don't you know you ALWAYS WEAR BLACK SOCKS with dress clothes?" Back into the house he went to change his socks. Red was always Dad's favorite color. When he died we asked everyone attending his services to wear "red" in his honor. I look back on photos of that day, my arm through Dad's as we marched down the aisle towards my exhausted young groom, and I wish he WERE wearing those RED socks. They would have gone nicely with my pink dress....... Thank you, Sherman, for bringing back that memory.
May 23, 2023·edited May 23, 2023Liked by Sherman Alexie
I read this twice, then once more. I liked it. I like your words that hook together and fill with meaning. After that third read, I sat quietly, waiting for meanings to soak in.
Your father gave you a gift---seems small, but is so big. "Wear black socks" is I love you enough to save you from hot embarrassed shames. I stare at your father's young face. Out of big love, he guided. I wish I'd had one---a guide. I was left to figure most things out by myself.
I love how you pull such a small moment from your life, examine it, articulate what it meant to you, and share it - it becomes meaningful to us, too. It's a great writing lesson. thank you.
This reminds me of your recent post about politics. Is it fair to say that those black socks might simultaneously represent something sacred (as you see them) and something profane (for those who see a reminder of boarding schools)? Perhaps similar to food sovereignty debates about whether fry bread is a symbol of colonialism or resilience.
Ok: how did S h nail it? Author represents the complex interaction of issues of race, class, and gender norms. Never mind the fight-back of the colonized. An exquisite piece of work. Just wonderful.
Most of us know by know that there is really no such thing as "little" things. Everything matters and the small details make up the larger picture. Your father was a good man who knew that these little things were the tell-tale signs that you KNEW. You were in the IN crowd. You belonged.
I really appreciate how you keep writing, and how you express where beauty may be found in even the hard or ugly parts of living. This essay is especially tender and gracious. Grace. Maybe that's what I love about your writing most. You allow all your characters to be themselves AND your allow them grace. Thank you.
Oh, Jeanne, what an amazing story. Thank you for sharing. I remember I gave a reading in 1993 in a shopping mall bookstore in Cleveland Heights. I read in the hallway outside the store in front of a bridal shop display window that featured a RED wedding dress!
This made me smile and remember my own Dad and "socks" on my wedding day. I was married in a hurry at age 17. My 18 year old fiancee flew a "red eye" back from army training camp to meet me at the altar. This was not the wedding I'd expected as the "very good girl", star pupil and debater, and catechism teacher. But the night before my high school boyfriend left for the military, in the middle of the Vietnam War, we "went all the way". I discovered I was pregnant by going to the library. The reproductive system had been removed from our small town high school biology books. No white dress for me, Mom insisted on "pink" and "pink" it was. Back to those socks! As we were leaving the house to head to our small Catholic Church I noticed my Dad's socks - BRIGHT RED! "Oh my God, Dad! How could you do this to me on my wedding day? I'll be mortified! Don't you know you ALWAYS WEAR BLACK SOCKS with dress clothes?" Back into the house he went to change his socks. Red was always Dad's favorite color. When he died we asked everyone attending his services to wear "red" in his honor. I look back on photos of that day, my arm through Dad's as we marched down the aisle towards my exhausted young groom, and I wish he WERE wearing those RED socks. They would have gone nicely with my pink dress....... Thank you, Sherman, for bringing back that memory.
I read this twice, then once more. I liked it. I like your words that hook together and fill with meaning. After that third read, I sat quietly, waiting for meanings to soak in.
Your father gave you a gift---seems small, but is so big. "Wear black socks" is I love you enough to save you from hot embarrassed shames. I stare at your father's young face. Out of big love, he guided. I wish I'd had one---a guide. I was left to figure most things out by myself.
Your father chose to guide; I admire him.
I love how you pull such a small moment from your life, examine it, articulate what it meant to you, and share it - it becomes meaningful to us, too. It's a great writing lesson. thank you.
This reminds me of your recent post about politics. Is it fair to say that those black socks might simultaneously represent something sacred (as you see them) and something profane (for those who see a reminder of boarding schools)? Perhaps similar to food sovereignty debates about whether fry bread is a symbol of colonialism or resilience.
Nice.
So good. Makes me wish I’d met your old man.
Ok: how did S h nail it? Author represents the complex interaction of issues of race, class, and gender norms. Never mind the fight-back of the colonized. An exquisite piece of work. Just wonderful.
Did I say “you nailed it” SH?
Most of us know by know that there is really no such thing as "little" things. Everything matters and the small details make up the larger picture. Your father was a good man who knew that these little things were the tell-tale signs that you KNEW. You were in the IN crowd. You belonged.
You nailed it S h. When it’s published, I will use it to teach HS students. Oh my, you nailed it Sh.
Wonderful story.
The photo is great. What a handsome guy.
Black socks, makes us see ourselves as more than equals. So if you own a tux what does that say?
I really appreciate how you keep writing, and how you express where beauty may be found in even the hard or ugly parts of living. This essay is especially tender and gracious. Grace. Maybe that's what I love about your writing most. You allow all your characters to be themselves AND your allow them grace. Thank you.
💜