Previous | Next 

Dirty socks

Al Menconi

I used to believe that one of the advantages of having daughters was that my clothes would be safe. After all, girls don’t wear boys’ clothes, do they? Girls wear dresses and ribbons and bows, right? Wrong. As my little girls grew up, all these assumptions were blown out of the water. My daughters rummaged through my socks drawer, my shirts drawer and every other clothing drawer I had. They figured that if it fit or came close to fitting, it was fair game.

At first, I thought it was cute, but then I began to notice that some of my sweaters were missing. I couldn’t find a T-shirt when I needed one. Worst of all, they were wearing out all my socks! I gave up complaining about the missing shirts, but I sure didn’t want them wearing my socks outside, getting grass stains on them or, worse, wearing holes in the toes. This type of behaviour was a mortal sin when I was growing up. My mother simply would not allow it – and neither would I. I was going to win this battle!

Every time I saw them wearing my socks without shoes, I made sure they knew I was upset. “Get back in here and put on your shoes!” I would yell. Before long, nearly everything I said to my girls was about putting on their shoes or taking off my socks. I started to see them as the enemy whose purpose it was to drive me nuts by running around in stocking feet – my stockings on their feet!

Eventually, my daughters began to obey me – out of fear. I was winning the battle for the socks; but I was losing the war for my children. I evaluated my conversations with Ann and Allison and realized I was angry or disappointed with them the majority of the time. No wonder they didn’t want to talk with me. I didn’t want to be a spineless parent, but I also wanted to be able to have a loving relationship with my children.

I noticed that my daughters’ behaviour didn’t seem to bother their mother. Why should it? They weren’t her socks. But it was more than that. I noticed the girls were much more obedient to their mother. I noticed she was able to talk with them without getting upset. They even liked to be around her, while they barely put up with me. She was choosing her battles with our children, and socks just weren’t worth the fight.

After much prayer and thought, I came to the conclusion that a 79-cent pair of socks wasn’t worth fighting over. So I bought a dozen pair of sweat socks with a grey bottom. I took the two dozen stained and holey ones, and dropped them on the floor between Ann and Allison’s bedrooms. “Girls, these are your socks. If you want to play outside without shoes, that is up to you. You have more than 10 pairs each. When you ruin them, buy new ones. But these are mine” (I held up my new grey-bottomed socks).

From that day on, nothing more was ever mentioned about socks. I noticed that a lot of the “small stuff” no longer bothered me. I also noticed my daughters were less uptight around their dad. When I quit fighting them about socks, we began to talk and have fun. I learned to enjoy them, and they seemed to enjoy me.

I wish I had learned sooner that my children were more than projects to control, but were young girls who needed a dad who wouldn’t fight with them over every issue. I have learned to pick my fights. How about you?

Reprinted by permission of Al Menconi Ministries, Box 5008, San Marcos, CA 92061050, phone (619) 591-4696.

Previous | Next 

Last modified October 20, 2000.

© 2000 Mennonite Brethren Herald.
Published by the Canadian Conference of MB Churches.
Masthead and usage information.