I vividly remember my first day of gym class in sixth grade. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I was not an athletic lad,and in elementary school we did not change our clothes (“dress out”) for gym class, or “play period,” as we called it then. Now, on y first day of middle school day I gamely pulled on my baggy gym shorts and my baggier tee-shirt and changed into my sneakers, unwisely leaving on my black socks.
My entrance onto the playing field caused a minor sensation as all the other boys were wearing white tube socks pulled, as was the style, up to their knees. I was the only one wearing black socks and white shoes. There was a fair amount of ridicule but thankfully a minute later fat Frankie Fredericks showed up, shirtless. He had forgotten his tee-shirt and Coach made him dress out anyway, reveling in the taunts f the other boys and at Frankie’s discomfort at showing his huge belly and pendulous breasts. Coach, to say the least, was a total douche.
Poor Frankie; he had not hit puberty yet and needed a brassiere more than he needed a jockstrap but thanks to Fat Frankie and his enormous bobs the heat was off me, although Coach called me “Black Sox” for the rest of the year. (Did I mention that Coach was a total dick? ) I stewed for the rest of the day, wondering how all the other boys (even Fat Frankie!) knew not to wear black socks to gym class. Did everyone get the memo but me?
I was thinking about my black socks experience the other day when I was at the gym. I had just gotten off the treadmill, sweating profusely and fairly certain I was about to suffer a massive stroke. Hands on my knees, staring at the floor and gulping air , I looked around and noticed that I was one of the few guys not wearing black socks with my white sneakers. When did black socks with white sneakers become cool again? Did I miss another memo?
This is clearly a recurrent theme of my middle-aged life. For example, I had just gotten used to seeing young people with tattoos on arms, legs, chests and backs, and I actually take a perverse joy in this, imagining what these tattoos are going to look like in 30 or 40 years, but lately I’ve been seeing people with tattoos all over their face. When did facial tattoos become stylish? Why did I not get that memo?
I also missed the memo explaining that when someone wears a tee-shirt emblazoned with a wildly inappropriate slogan that you’re not allowed to read it. This makes no sense; it’s like erecting a billboard and getting annoyed when someone looks at it. But I was at the Home Show last week and I saw a woman wearing a tee-shirt that said — well, never mind, just, take my word for it, it was raw.* As I read it, mouth opened in astonishment she gave me a look that would have killed a lesser man. “Take a picture, it will last longer,” she hissed. I reached for my cell phone to do just that but she was already gone.
There are other memos that I’ve missed. I never got the memo explaining when to shake hands with someone and when to bump fists. I see guys doing one or the other all the time, but how do they know? Who decides? For me, if I try to shake hands with an acquaintance he bumps my fist; if I try to bump fists he wants to shake my hand. It’s not a greeting so much as it is “Rock-Paper-Scissors.”
I also never got the memo explaining why I should care about Justin Bieber. I never got the memo announcing that “Dude” was now an appropriate substitute for “Sir.” I certainly never got the memo explaining that if I go to a Chinese restaurant that they now charge extra if I want rice or that if I go to a Mexican restaurant and order guacamole they have to mix it at the table, chatting nonstop while they do. The list of memos that never make it to my in-box is causing me endless confusion but I have no idea who to contact to get on the recipient list.
*OK — no more emails about what was on the young lady’s tee-shirt . Her tee-shirt said: “I’ll keep sucking. You’ll make more.” I am not making this up.