While Waiting For My Socks To Dry

By: Jim Fischer

I found myself in my last pair of clean socks and decided to take a break from sightseeing, wash a few pairs in the sink in my hotel room. There was, for the moment at least, hot water and one of those tiny pink soaps on the basin. I made quick work of the task, proceeded to the sunny rooftop terrace to set the soggy footwear out to dry. I also brought my new Ipod, a smoke and a nearly frozen Corona I had purchased across the street, for the occasion. I hung the damp laundry over the back of a chair. I moved into the brilliant sunshine and settled into a cushioned rocker.

Ah. A cold beer on a sunny day. Surely one of life’s simple pleasures. I fit the ear buds in place and pressed play. While rockin’ out to some of the best music ever, I realized how many years I had, in fact, reeled in. One tune played that I remembered having on vinyl and then on eight track. Many others I had on eight track and then on cassette. Now this music had been morphed yet again into a digital format and somehow, with no moving parts that I could think of, was filling my head with crystal clear, wonderful music. So many songs and trips and years.

I was, indeed, the Fortunate Son, blessed with many visits to amazing places, encounters with vastly different people from almost everywhere. I had met many kind and helpful souls who had enriched my life and broadened my perspectives. Why just yesterday, while walking to find a beautiful and remote river valley I had read about, an old couple in a battered VW Beetle, kindly gave me a ride and saved me over an hour-long walk in the hot sun, then refused the pesos I offered them – kindness personified. I found the spot I had been seeking, splashed in the cold stream and enjoyed the awesome beauty and isolation that surrounded me. Aware of a long, hot uphill walk at over seven thousand feet of elevation, I left a bit early so as to not to be caught by darkness.

Thinking for a moment at the junction of trail and road, a car approached, heading in my direction. It slowed. I gave a wave and the driver stopped for me. In my broken Spanish, I asked for a lift up to the highway. He said I was welcome to ride along with him. As it happened, he was going into town and he took me all the way to the market. I was amazed. And humbled. Was this a day of good luck, of coincidence, karma, mercy, grace, what? He could have robbed me, hurt me. I felt blessed.

As the music continued to play, suddenly, unexpectedly, I realized how it came to pass that I was enjoying this wonderful music. My son. It was my son who had downloaded well over 120 songs for me. He knew the websites and had the high speed connection that saved me many hours of searching. He wanted to do it for me. He seemed willing and happy to help me. It moved me, especially considering our rocky history.

There was a time he had lied to me, stolen from me, accidentally burned down the shed protecting my sweet, sweet ‘69 VW Bus. He bought my car and never paid me for it. He defied, manipulated and resented me. We wouldn’t speak for days, we would argue when we finally did. Hard feelings persisted for years. He was finally able to move out and begin to make his way in the world, become the man he was to be. We both mellowed, matured and reconciled after a time. Still he owed me. I held resentment toward him, he knew it. Yet, he helped me. Two days before my flight, he made a special visit to my house, gave me seven of my favorite CDs he had downloaded. He wished me a great trip, he even said he loved me. I was touched.

Sitting in the warm sunshine on my little rooftop patio, my heart melted, my eyes welled over, I was free. “Show mercy as you have been shown mercy. Forgive as you have been forgiven.” I realized what I had been seeking on this trip – adventure, exotic places and faraway experiences. More importantly, I discovered a hidden place in my heart, the place where compassion dwells. As it raged in my head, the music somehow became a magic key that enabled the secret door to become unlocked, to open, revealing the treasure inside labeled forgiveness.

I stopped the music, got up, experiencing a sense of liberation. My resentment had imprisoned me, alienated me from my son. My socks were dry, I used one to wipe away my tears. This was, undoubtedly, the pivotal point of my journey. I was moved to do something in order to demonstrate my newfound perspective.

My son is interested in art, very talented. I almost never buy souvenirs for others on my travels, but I decided to don my clean socks, return to the market to find the Mayan print I saw yesterday when I was dropped off by the kind man who had given me the ride back from the valley. It hadn’t occurred to me then, but now I know I must buy the piece and give it to my son as a gift of thanks for the music, as well as a peace offering, ask him if he can also somehow find the place in his heart that might allow him to forgive me as well.

I will be home in three days – travel weary, yet rested. I am looking forward to getting together with my son, relating my journey with him, showing him the photos and especially, the gift. I only hope the artwork will be a key to understanding between us. I will also give him this story. I believe it will serve as a portal to a new relationship. May we journey together through life in harmony as true friends.