I know what you’re thinking: who cares about missing socks, right?
Believe me, if you were in my shoes (pun intended), you would have done the same thing.
Because when you’re a single dad trying to hold it together, even the tiniest things may drive you crazy.
It began with only one sock. A simple black one, nothing extraordinary. I assumed it got devoured by the dryer, as socks sometimes do.
But then another disappeared the following week. And another.
I’m not sure about you, but after the fifth lost sock, even the most rational person would get a suspect.
The mystery of the disappearing socks was driving me nuts. To ensure that I wasn’t hallucinating things, I began marking pairs with small dots.
You’re probably wondering why I didn’t simply buy new socks. Maybe it would have been a reasonable thing to do, but the majority of the missing socks were novelty socks given to me by my wife.
That’s when I remembered the old nanny cam we had used when Dylan – my son was a newborn.
It took some digging, but I located it in the garage, buried beneath a box containing Sarah’s old things.
Setting up the camera in the laundry room felt stupid, but I didn’t care. I put up three pairs of freshly laundered socks and waited.
The next morning, I almost spilled my coffee in my haste to review the footage. What I witnessed caused my jaw to drop. Dylan was tiptoeing into the washing room well before daylight, selecting one sock from each pair and placing it into his backpack.
I set a trap for my sock-stealing son so I could find out what he was doing with all of my socks.
I hung additional clean socks in the laundry room while keeping a tight eye on the nanny cam. I observed Dylan remove the socks, but as he left the house, I followed.
My heart raced as I followed him at a distance, attempting to remain discreet. He turned down Oak Street, which I generally avoid due to the abandoned houses.
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Dylan walks up to the most dilapidated building on the block and knocks on the door.
The scene in front of me was not what I had feared. An elderly man sat in a wheelchair by the window, wrapped in a torn blanket. Dylan stood in front of him, holding a familiar-looking bag.
“I brought you some new socks,” my son said softly. “The blue ones have little anchors on them. I thought you might like those since you said you were in the Navy.”
I must have made a sound because they both turned to face me. Dylan’s eyes widened.
“Dad! I can explain!”
The elderly man wheeled himself around. “You must be Dennis. I’m Frank. Your boy here has been keeping my foot warm for the past month.”
He smiled as he raised the blanket and saw that he only had one leg. Now I understand why one sock was missing from each pair!
Frank cleared his throat.
“Dylan’s been visiting me every day since then. First company I’ve had in years, if I’m being honest. My own kids left the country years ago. They send me money sometimes, but don’t visit much.”
“He’s a good boy,” Frank said quietly.
The following day, I brought Dylan shopping. We purchased out half of Target’s fun sock section, including wacky designs and insane hues.
We now visit Frank regularly. I assist him with home repairs that he is unable to manage, and Dylan entertains him with school stories.
We sometimes bring him food along with the socks, and he tells Dylan war stories that always end with kindness in unexpected places.
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In 1993, a deaf baby was left on my doorstep. I took on the role of his mother, but I had no idea what the future would hold for him.
