What has it got in its pocketesses?

I put Emmet to bed tonight. It was a pretty normal bedtime. Brush teeth, use the potty, read a story, snuggle, go to sleep. Then I went to my room and got ready for a shower. I got undressed and went through my shorts to make sure I wouldn’t wash my phone (again) and realized ….I have a lot of stuff in my pockets. Not only did I have a lot of stuff in my pockets, they were all things that identify my place in my life’s time line. Then I got to thinking, you can tell a lot about a person by what’s in their pockets.

 

When I was 12 my pocket contents, which probably ended up in the washing machine, told a story. They said I was a geek. More than likely there was a “Magic” card in there somewhere. And a small glass stone to keep track of my hit points. Yeah I was that kind of geek. Also I had a bit of a sweet tooth, also a sour tooth, at the same time. It was almost a guarantee I had a sour warhead, if not at least the wrapper stuffed in those pockets somewhere. I also had my pocketknife. When I wasn’t going to school I took that three bladed boy scout knife with me everywhere. One could never know when it would come in handy. Need to open a pack of cards? Make a fishing pole? Just add a shoe lace and whittle a bit. After all as a scout you should be prepared right?

 

At 20 those pockets had a new narrative. A pack of camel lights, and Iwo Jima Zippo. They made me cool you know? A neon bracelet with some clubs name on it. It said to everyone “You can come in but you can’t have a beer”. If I was lucky a crumbled napkin with a phone number on it. I wonder if I call it will Christy really answer? More likely it will be some grumpy old man who is REALLY tired of getting Christy’s phone calls. I may have been a Marine but I was still that geek. My ID card, have to be able to get back on base. And a few bucks leftover from the weekend…if I was lucky.

 

When I cleaned those pockets out tonight at 33 it was quite different again. Some change, but certainly not enough of it. My cell phone, you know so the wife can tell me when she’s coming home and I can have dinner ready. A black hot wheels funny car, and in a separate pocket its spoiler waiting for me to fix it. A hat, blue with anchors, that is entirely too small for my head. Its supposed to be a Gilligan style bucket hat, on my head its more of a yarmulke. A pack of crackers…you know for emergencies, when we’re an hour from home and its snack time. And tissues, anyone with a toddler knows there are never enough tissues, wipes, four foot square towels, whatever. Toddlers are messy little people.

 

All in all my pockets would clearly identify me to any one of those super smart TV detectives. I am a dad. One that is on duty all day. Because my pockets are no longer mine. My pockets belong to E. Those 3T gymboree shorts just don’t have the storage capacity he needs at the moment. I can’t wait to see what story his pockets will tell in the next few years when I’m doing the laundry.

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