Before leaving for “Winter Wonderland” at Southwick Zoo in Mendon, Massachusetts, Elysha and I warned the kids that we could be outdoors for about two hours, so dress accordingly.
As expected, the children gathered winter coats, hats, and mittens.
Three hours later, we were wandering amongst the twinkling lights and holiday music when Charlie declared that his feet were cold.
I looked down. He was wearing Crocs and no socks.
In December.
Each of his feet was covered by a piece of rubberized Swiss cheese. It was about 38 degrees and getting colder.
Elysha and I empathized with him but also reminded him that our warnings about dressing appropriately were clear and specific. Then we made fun of him. Endlessly. Taunted him with every frigid step.
So he suffered a bit. His feet were cold. His toes were numb. His pride was wounded.
All natural consequences of not listening well.
A few minutes later, he said, “Wait! Look! I found socks in my pocket!”
It was true. Somehow, he was pulling a sock from his coat pocket. Not a clean sock, mind you, but still, a sock. I couldn’t believe it.
“How did socks get in your coat pocket?” I asked.
“I dunno,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.
“Put them on!” I said.
Then he frowned. “I only have one.”
So my son went to an outdoor Winter Wonderland event in mid-December in Crocs and no socks, then halfway through the event, as his feet were freezing, he just happened to find a single, unplanned, mystery sock in his coat pocket.
Only my son.
As we made our way to the exit, we walked by some signs thanking sponsors of the event. One of them just happened to be Woo Sox, which Charlie assumed was a sock company placed there by the universe to further torment him. He shook his fist at the sign then looked to the sky and shouted, “Why?”
A snow machine was sending flakes into the air, making us think for a moment that it was actually snowing, which was a perfect addition to this moment.
I still haven’t told Charlie that the Woo Sox are the Worcester Red Sox, a minor league team of the Boston Red Sox.
I may never tell him.
The Worcester Red Sox happen to play baseball in Polar Park, which given the state of Charlie’s feet, at least seems fitting. But I prefer to let him think a sock company was somehow tormenting him for his terrible decision alongside his merciless family.
As I relentlessly tell my students, mistakes are valuable.
In this case, they can also be a little chilly.
