Every day, when I know I’m done with everything I need to do for the day, I empty my pockets.
Chapstick, gum, keys, coins, Bethel I.D., cell phone, and wallet.
It’s just nice to feel freedom down there. To not sit on a big, leather square, to not hear jingling every time I take a step, to know that nothing is going to jab me in the leg—is a great thing.
I was told recently that not only do I do this, but my father does. And his father. And his father.
Something I thought was normal and unintentional is actually deeply ingrained in my blood. Like father, like son. Like son. Like son.
I have to find a new mindless, habitual routine to call my own.
Haha! Next will you be carrying a cloth handkerchief in your pocket as well?
ReplyDeleteUgh, your guess is as good as mine.
ReplyDeleteHave you ever noticed how possessive you are of your finger nail clipper? There's another one....
ReplyDeleteI'm kinda glad you don't do the toothpick thing. Not that there's anything WRONG with it...I'm just sayin'
AHH!! what am i becoming???
ReplyDeleteYou're becoming Dad silly... and Dad is becoming Grandpa! Haha! It makes me giggle... Soon you'll be singing "Morning Glory" in your garage all alone. = )
ReplyDeleteHAHAHA!!!! I forgot about the "morning glory" in the garage!!!!!!!!
ReplyDeleteDad here. (Nope, don't know why it looks like Lindsay is saying this. Mr. Techy strikes again! Welcome to the Schroeder-male club, Brian. Yepper, hankies, toothpicks, talking to strangers while pumping gas, making (trying to) waitresses/hostesses laugh... it's all deep inside you ready bust out (more)! Something to look forward to, eh? And yes, Brian, PROTECT YOUR FINGER NAIL CLIPPER! ! ! ! ! Funny, Tess. Happy Birthday, Brian! Love you, Dad.
ReplyDeleteHey, this is Lindsay. Mom posted the one above Dad's post that says it was me. I'm not sure what happened, but I fixed it! = )
ReplyDeleteHave a great 21st birthday!
Hehehe, yes, yes, happy 21st, Brian :).
ReplyDeleteI always thought it was a bit weird that you took everything out of your pockets every single time you sit down. Huh. Genetics, eh?
Welp.
Love you.