“Well, you can tell where he spends most of his time!”
I took a pair of pants out of my “wear-to-work” rotation. I switched my wardrobe around. It is one of those things that most of us do to mark the changing of the seasons. Spring would soon become summer.( Of course, I know there will be “spells” when the warmth will be overcome by coolness; but here in the mountains the “spell” will soon pass, lasting only a couple of days before it will warms back up again.) I replaced some of my thick, long-sleeve shirts with some of the thinner, short-sleeve -types. I, also, gave my pants the “once over”, deciding which ones merit more wear and which ones to wear only when doing chores around the farm. Yes, one pair found their way to the “cull pile” to be tossed out. I had worn them out. The part of the pants that displayed the most wear? The seat-end, of course. As I ripped the pants up for rags to use to wipe up some future spill I felt a smile creep over my otherwise solemn face as I remembered something from years ago.
Back in the days when I worked in a nursing home I had a pair of green Dockers pants that I wore very often. I liked those pants. They fit me perfectly. I had a couple of shirts that seemed to match. I enjoyed the ensembles I put together with those pants as the foundation. Well, anyway, one morning I arrived at work, wearing my green pants. I stopped by the time clock and then made my way towards my office. My trek took me by the front nurse’s station. There was a short bench next to the station. It was a favorite sitting place for some of the residents. In particular, two ladies from the 100 Hall loved to sit on the bench, chatting with each other in the mornings as they waited for the dining room to begin serving breakfast. On this certain morning I passed by the bench, greeted the ladies, and walked past them on my way to the office. Just after passing them I overheard one say to the other, “Did you see that?” Immediately, the other replied, “I shore did. The hind-end of his britches is plum worn out. Why, his hind-pockets are showing.” The first one responded, “I hope it’s his pockets. I’d hate to think it’s his undershorts.” Her comments gathered a chuckle from both of them. Finally, one of them said, “Well, you can tell where he spends most of his time.” (Needless to say, I spent the rest of my day either seated or attempting to walk sideways and backwards in hopes of keeping the worn state of my green pants from becoming the subject of additional social commentary.)
This remembrance got me to thinking. I wonder how folks see me as I pass them by. What impression of me do I leave them with? (Boy, all kinds of good puns and one-liners are begging to be turned loose about now. I shall resist.) Hopefully, I will leave behind good things for them to remember me by. If I can say a kind or humorous word then maybe they will hold on to that memory. If I can lend a helpful hand or a patiently listening ear that will be the one that remains. If maybe I can say or do something to urge them on; particularly when quitting seems like a good option, those things will linger after I pass on by. If I place some meaningful thing in their hands that thing will be a valuable treasure when I move on down the trail, they will be grateful I passed by.
Well, at least those two ladies clearly saw the results of where I spend a lot of my time. From now on I make a conscious effort to toss out worn pants before my BVDs/Fruit-of-the-Looms/Hanes are put on display. I have been thinking about getting some of those from Duluth Trading Company. What do they call them- “Buck Naked Underwear”?