I have this friend that I’ve had since forever…the kind where you just kind of pick up right where you left off, even if years go by between visits.  Her name is Whitney and I’ve known Whitney since I was probably three.  And that’s basically forever.

Whitney is a very creative, funny, genuinely kind hearted person who always wants to do “what’s right” by whoever she happens to be dealing with at that particular moment.  Her parents raised her in the (Methodist) church and are very, very nice people who always seem to be doing the humble-person, play it safe thing.  They’re both very much like Tim, come to think of it.

Wrap all of that sticky sweet play-it-safe business up and toss it right out the window…and you have my mom.  The wild flower child of the 60s (self proclaimed, I’ll have you know).

The entire time I lived at home, my mom drove a blue Toyota van.  I hated this van.  The radio didn’t work.  The tape player didn’t work.  We only had ”natural” air conditioning on all of those looooong drives to Jacksonville, Florida…good times.

It looked something like this.  Behind the front seats, there was a two-seater row and then a longer three seater behind that.  The side windows didn’t roll down.  They slid sideways over the top of one another.

I love you, mom….but that van.  It’s like the whole world knew we were coming.  Look!  It’s the VAN!  The VAN!

And that is SO UNCOOL when you’re a pre-teen….

Anyway, late one winter evening, my mom, Whitney and I were driving home from downtown Atlanta laaaaate at night.  I don’t even remember why we were down there, really.  I mean, a single mom, two pre-teens and downtown Atlanta.  Hello, disaster. 

If I remember correctly, I think we had just finished seeing the Passion Play or something else just as Christian.  A “good person” kind of activity and we were on our way back home.

Whitney: Look!  It’s a homeless man!

Mom: Where? Where?

Whitney: Right there!  At the corner!

Mom: I see him!

Whitney: He doesn’t have any SOCKS!

Now, to a pre-teen Whitney, a homeless man running around the streets in the dead of winter without any socks?  This was blasphemous.

Me: I think those are shoes…so he has shoes…and those are like socks…

Whitney: I want to give him my socks!

Upon hearing that, my mom slams on the breaks and immediately starts making her way back around to find the sockless homeless man again.  If you’ve never been to Atlanta, whoever designed the roads must have been drunk or retarded, because it is impossible to make four left turns or four right turns and get back to where you started.

Meanwhile, I’m slouching next to Whitney in the two-seater all, “Really.  He’s probably fine.  He’s made it this long and is still walking…”

Mom: There he is!  Do you see him!?  Whitney!  Do you see him!

Whitney: I do! I do!

My mom starts to drive up behind the sockless homeless man, who was on a dark alley sidewalk, walking the same direction we were driving.  Whitney, meanwhile, has hurriedly flung both shoes into the air and was frantically trying to get her socks off and looking presentable.

The blue van creeps up to this scraggly looking dude…and I’m sinking lower and lower, trying to silently come with some kind of defense in case the homeless man flips the hell out and goes bat shit crazy on us…something like, “Duuuuude.  I KNOW.  I tried to tell them.  And, really, I’m just an innocent bystander in all of this.  I still have *my* socks just like you have your dignity.  I totally hear you.”

My mom manages to match the van’s speed with the homeless man’s gait while Whitney opens the sliding window on the side of the van.  I can just see the huge grin on her face, eyes sparkling because she is about to give this man a pair of pre-teen girl socks.  She is GIVING HIM SOCKS.  And to Whitney, this random act of kindness is better than Chritmas and birthdays and a million dollars.

Whitney, in her sweetest, most joyous, sing-song voice, hangs out the window, waving the socks like they are a beacon of warmth and says, “Your feet looked so cold!  Here, I want you have my socks!”

Sockless Homeless Man stops walking and looks at her like she is the devil himself.  I’m staring at him from behind Whitney, not entirely sure what is about to happen…and then he speaks.  Yells, really, all, WTF?!  WTF???!!  Get away!  GO AWAY!  I don’t want your damn socks! DAMMIT. DAMMIT GO AWAY. GO YOU BIAOTCH!  GO! GOGOGOGOGOGOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!

My mom doesn’t even hesitate.  She hits the gas and begins to speed off, knowing the signs of danger and when enough is enough, while Whitney is still half out the window.

And one would assume that after a good Christian girl gets cursed to the high heavens – probably for the first time ever in her life – that she’d cower down and shrivel up in the seat and cry. 

But noooooooo, not Whitney.  Whitney holds onto the side of that van like a champion, smiling even bigger, waving the socks in the air – almost like a tease, and yells, “Merry Christmas!!!”

Then, her hair all wind blown and cheeks flushed, Whitney sits back down in the two seater with me, closes the window and says in a composed, calm voice, ”Well, that wasn’t very nice.”

Only years later did Whitney and I learn that the reason he was so put off at her gesture of goodwill was because we interrupted a very important street corner transaction with a hooker. 

Maybe he traded his socks for sex and that’s why he was sockless…so he lost his socks…and his “catch.”  Then, out of the darkness comes Whitney, the reason for his bad luck, and mocks him with a pair of pre-teen socks.

Technically, we probably saved him from getting syphilis or chlamydia or crabs.  So, really, he should be grateful we happened upon him in our STD Avoidance Van.

And this whole story resurfaced because yesterday, the sockless homeless man finally got his retribution:

Even 1400 miles away…I’m still causing trouble back home.