Underwear shortage causes brief panic

I know I should probably be writing about gloom and doom, what we should do about it, who's to blame and what a relief it will be in January when a moving truck pulls up to the White House.

But what I feel compelled to share with you today is the fact that I'm wearing my son's underwear.

The reason is some of my underwear is in the laundry, but most of it is missing. It's just gone, vanished, like a plate of deviled eggs at a cookout.

You know how it is. You head over to the picnic table to sample one of those delectable stuffed-egg halves, but someone you haven't seen since the days when it was cool to smoke Marlboros steps into your path and starts talking your ear off about the Nittany Lions because you went to Penn State and he thinks you care.

Well, you don't care all that much, but your parents brought you up to be polite, so by the time you reach the deviled eggs, they're gone.

Sight to behold

You note that beside the empty plate is a veggie platter with baby carrots and broccoli. And that's one of the things in life you can count on: someone bringing a pile of cruciferous vegetables to a picnic to make you feel guilty.

So, my underwear drawer was empty this morning, which wasn't a surprise because yesterday I was down to an antediluvian pair of tighty-whities that actually fit!

I wore them with pride, and people commented on the spring in my step. I just smiled back, thinking better than to say I was feeling good about myself because I fit into old underpants and they weren't chafing or cutting off circulation.

Still, you might ask, why am I wearing my son's underwear today? My son is 16, and he's a little bigger than I. And it was either wear no underwear or put on a pair of his, and you already know what I decided.

My son has a drawer full of boxers in muted colors, underwear with which I have greater familiarity than I would like because he is a conformist, wearing his jeans low to reveal a good bit of his boxers. Teen boys call that fashion. It could be worse. He could be sneaking Marlboros.

But I dug under the boxers and found a navy pair of boxer briefs. I pulled them on, and although I'm no underwear model — you never see an underwear model with a bald spot — I didn't look half bad. Yes, I looked at myself in the mirror. I even turned my back to the mirror and looked over my shoulder.

Now you understand why I'm reluctant to write about gloom and doom today.

History repeats?

I heard on the radio that Warren Buffett is calling the financial calamity an "economic Pearl Harbor," and I saw Sarah Palin tell Katie Couric we might be on the road to another Great Depression.

I am of the generation that knows about that stuff only from history books and "The Grapes of Wrath" — what a novel! — and we have no concept of what a prolonged crisis with widespread suffering is like. It makes me a little nervous.

What if money gets so tight that everybody stops buying newspapers. What if Lancaster Newspapers closes shop, and I get sent home without a paycheck.

That is not the future I envisioned. Would the stress wreck my marriage, or would my wife and I grow closer? Would I crawl into a hole or feel drawn into greater participation at church or in my community? Maybe I'd join the fire company.

I have this notion that a crisis can bring out the best in us, as individuals and as a nation. And I think, too, that being forced to do with less can lead to greater appreciation of what really matters.

For instance, I ran out of underwear today. But I've rarely felt closer to my son.

E-mail: jhawkes@lnpnews.com