Underwear Is Essential

Cool title, huh? We’ll get to that in a minute.

Today I am reminiscing on part of my childhood that is near and dear to my heart. My dad was a minister in a small church denomination where all of the fellow ministers from all of the southeastern US states knew each other. And their families knew each other. There was a retreat, a conference grounds, in the mountains near Flat Rock, North Carolina, where people of the faith would gather to conduct business, attend conferences, explore faith topics, rest and relax, and enjoy a mountain get-away. As a child, this was one of my favorite places on Earth. When we went there, we always rented a cottage or stayed in one of the many hotel, motel, or boarding house rooms on the grounds.

Every summer, the ministers would gather for an annual meeting, where they hashed out important topics, laid plans, worshiped together, and conducted business of the church. It was typical for the whole family to go along to the conference, but, for the most part, the ministers were the only ones required to attend meetings.  Every summer, my dad, mom, sister, and I would go to the conference grounds for 1 or 2 weeks, depending on what meetings were lined up, and how much time my parents could get away.  

One of the most exciting things about going there in summer was meeting up with our long-lost friends who came from all over the southeast year after year. We had no communication with this rambunctious group of kids all year, and then, BAM, there we were all together again! While our dads were busy doing ministerial meetings and things, and our moms were busy doing something that moms had to do, we kids were free to be. We were allowed to roam around the grounds freely, playing on the playground, swimming in the lake (lifeguard on duty), playing pingpong in the rec hall, riding bikes down the twisty mountain streets, rolling down grassy hills, sipping a Nehi Orange soda at the canteen, exploring the old hotel with its mysterious passageways which connected rooms straight out of an Agatha Christie novel, gathering in groups with someone strumming a guitar and leading songs, playing games, and on and on.

It was the quintiessential ‘Be back in time for dinner’ experience.

We felt like we were FREE to be kids without parental supervision, but I’m sure we were not left on our own as much as it felt like. There were, in fact, some activities planned for us, and we participated in craft workshops, organized games, church worship activities, and things such as that. But, we also had many hours of hanging out and chilling. And, there were always a few older teenagers who took the ‘babysitting’ role of keeping an eye on everyone. We sometimes made treks off the grounds, hiking up Glassy Mountain, walking over to Carl Sandburg’s National Historic home to see the goat farm, sliding down the frigidly cold river water at Sliding Rock. We loved every minute of time we spent there with our friends. We enjoyed exploring the old stomping grounds, year after year.

As you can see, there were umpteen things for energetic, adventurous pals and groups of kids to do. We could not wait to wake up every morning to get on with the fun and hang out with our friends. Which is what made it so torturous the one day every summer when my mom put a nix on the fun and forced my sister and I to go the underwear outlet. Yes, I said underwear outlet. This place was about a million miles away, because it took forever to get there. Once there, we walked through row upon row of tables covered with piles and piles of panties. If it had been up to me, I would have grabbed the first handful of panties I saw, regardless of size, and gotten the hell out of Dodge (pardon my French). But, it was not up to me, so I stood impatiently as my mom examined the intricacies of design, precision of handicraft, and sturdiness of textile. One, two, three, four, five, six….how many undies do we need????? Can’t we just go home and buy them at Walmart? Why do I have to beeeee heeeerrreee? When she was finally satisfied with her purchase, my mom would end the excursion and take us back to the conference grounds, too late to join in afternoon fun. We were always anxious to meet up with our friends and find out what incredible adventures we had missed.

Apparently, the underwear outlet was a thing for all the moms. It seemed like every day, kids would get yanked out of our band of brothers, driven away with faces pressed against the car window, looking forlornly at us, all FOMO, sentenced to an afternoon of thrifty purchase. We shook our heads in sympathy at the pathetic sight, but welcomed them back with open arms when they returned, eager to share a recap of the day’s adventures. Why was this such a mom thing? I guess I’ll never know.

But, maybe I do know. Moms are always on the lookout for the essentials, the things that keep the family chugging along. Whether we needed underwear badly or not, my mom recognized the good deals and wanted to take advantage, I guess. And, it was also part of her ritual when we were in the area. Shopping for discounted underwear made sense for the family.

As a parent, I was not able to provide my kids with the same experience that I had on the conference grounds of my childhood.  But, Rob & I did work hard to provide our kids with similar experiences by orchestrating predictable traditions year after year. Things they could depend on, look forward to, anticipate as they remembered previous experiences. Places that they felt belonged to them. Far-away friends that they would excitedly re-connect with. I think it is very grounding for kids to recognize their identity outside of their normal every-day life. To feel like they belong to more than one nuclear group.  I’ll have to tell you about some of those experiences with our kids, but that’s for another day.

As I think about it, though, I do hope that, as my kids sort through their childhood memories, in addition to the fond memories and happy thoughts……I hope that they have an underwear outlet story to tell. There should be some exasperating experience, I-can’t-believe-mom-made-us-do-that, mixed in with the good times. It balances the rose-colored version of childhood with the practical, get things done necessities of life. And, it establishes the concept that moms are still running the ship, still keeping their eyes open for what’s best for the family. Yay for the moms!

After all, it can’t be all fun and games. And underwear IS essential.