Pockets.

While doing laundry the other day, I checked the pockets in my kids’ pants. This is a must-do every single time. The margin for error is thin and wrought with heavy consequence. Following an unfortunate bubble gum to towel to chest hair transfer some time ago, I have learned this lesson and it is for my own safety that I check pockets religiously and thoroughly. My kids have, once again, demonstrated that even in their absence they have tremendous power to disrupt my pretty easy-going life. This fact is not lost on me and I live a pretty wary existence with this in mind.


Various little minefields surround my home. From trip hazards to improperly stacked dishes in the cupboard to unsecured caps on the milk, my kids create an environment in which any lapse in my attention will be met with disaster or at least a mess that I will have to clean up. As my wife will enthusiastically testify, I don’t enjoy cleaning up messes. So, I try to avoid any unnecessary spillage or breakage. I am not often successful, but I try.

The pocket presents a unique challenge in that some of the objects contained therein are pretty inexplicable. I shake my head a lot. I question why they keep some of things they do. I find candy, candy wrappers and other random pieces of paper, jewelry, cards of some sort or another and lots of other miscellany, including on rare occasions, money. I keep the money. My son will enquire, “Dad, did you find the five bucks I had in my pants?” At this point, I will happily lie to his face, “Nope, you probably lost it”, while silently burping the Jack In The Box dollar menu items that I purchased with his five bones. I have zero guilt about this, because it was probably my money in the first place and, even if it wasn’t, that kid owes me.

While the pocket garbage is a certainly a nuisance, it is also a small window into what they think and care about. The other day I tossed out a tiny bead found in my daughter’s pocket. Though I have little compunction about throwing away items that have seemingly no value, I have come to understand that I really have no idea about what has value to them. This simple, anonymous little bead apparently was a “present” to my daughter from her “best friend” and she wanted it. In fact, she needed it. She told me so.

As I dug through the trash searching for a stupid bead that meant everything, at least that day, to my daughter, I was struck by how little I know my kids. I often think I can read their minds and sometimes I can. They are usually pretty transparent and have no poker faces. But, as they get a little older, I see the individuals they are becoming. They care about things that I have no idea about. They have conversations and experiences that don’t involve me. This is a little unsettling, but also a little liberating. I want them to need me for as long as they do. However, I also want them to evolve. As painful as it is now and most certainly will become in a few years, I will not mind not hearing “Dad, I’m hungry” fifty times a day or “Dad, where are my shoes?”

I suppose that these questions like the kids will evolve as well. I can already hear, “Dad, have you seen my earring?” and it won’t be my daughter asking. I can hear, “Dad, will you drive us to the mall?” I can hear, “Dad, I’m taking the car.” I can hear it all as I once said it all to my own parents. I will understand as well as I can, which is sometimes not very well, but I will try. They will outgrow lots of things including and maybe especially, me.

They will not though, at least any time soon, outgrow the need for clean clothes and as I am the main player in our daily laundry battle, I will be checking pockets for a while. I will continue to learn things from the pockets’ treasures and I will be diligent. I will stand guard and I will keep my eyes peeled, as I know what sorts of things pockets can hide. Because, as my kids don’t understand now, but hopefully one day will: Once upon a time, not a long time ago, I had interesting things in my pockets, too.