The Sock
by George Hagen

It is late in the evening on a school night. The kids are in bed, and the dishes have been put away. I am sitting in a chair with a magazine in my lap.

I’ve been reading for five minutes.

My wife enters the house, battle-weary from her high-powered lawyer job—and naturally, the first thing she senses is not the obvious harmony of the household but the lone sock barely perceptible under the table.

“This place is a mess,” she says.

That damn sock.

In my defense, I remind her that in the previous six hours, I have picked up our son and daughter from school, ferried them to swim class, talked them through homework, cajoled them to eat just one—please!—spear of broccoli, run them around the block with the dog, steered them into the bathroom for showers and tooth-brushing, read them bedtime stories, kissed them good night, and—after lights-out—talked my 8-year-old son out of his worries about death.

My wife listens to this routine, but her eyes return to the sock.

That damn sock.

That sock is a symbol of the ever-present chinks in our marital armor.

The sock starts a fight. It’s about the mess in the house, the stress in our lives, the time we don’t have, the money we don’t have. Our voices rise, we hurl accusations, and suddenly it’s 11 p.m. and we are each weighing the potential satisfaction of a swift, harsh victory against that of a full night’s sleep.

In bed, we murmur a few apologies before closing our eyes, knowing that we have resolved nothing, that we’ll face the same problems in the morning, that our lives remain imperfect. But we have vented enough steam to be reunited in our mission.

Make no mistake: Parenthood is a mission. A noble mission. It requires selflessness, sacrifice, and compassion.

The next time you admire the tanned couple that always seem to be jetting off to another island paradise while you’re maxing out your credit card to pay for sneakers your daughter will outgrow in two months, remember the mission. We are all trying to raise children who will be caring, loving citizens. We want them to make the world a better place. We’d love them to cure cancer, create a masterpiece, or save an endangered species, but we know these things may not happen. Above all, we want our kids to be happy.

It can be easy to forget this mission. We live in an economy that punishes parents. If you have one salary, the struggle to stretch it can drive one to fury and desperation. If you have two salaries, you’re preoccupied with logistical acrobatics: Can’t make it to the family breakfast? Better not miss the parent-teacher conference. Can’t get to the winter concert? Must make it to the spring musical.

It’s easy to forget the mission when you’re frustrated with your job and the pressures of a society that celebrates fame and vast wealth—things most of us will never have and don’t need but covet nonetheless. Still, it’s a mission worth remembering—when you create a child, you are giving the world an individual who may change it for the better. Go ahead, invest in him (or her) your passions, your convictions, and your culture. She (or he) is your masterpiece, and your legacy.

So the next time you see that sock under the table, try not to curse it—or the poor soul who left it there. Toss it in the hamper with the rest of life’s dirty laundry and move on.

"... it's a mission

worth remembering—

when you create

a child, you are

giving the world

an individual who

may change it

for the better."