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Saturday, January 21, 2006


Yes, I have a confession to make. We all have secrets, don’t we?

Some folks actually mail their secrets to postsecrets, a web site dedicated to a new art form: secrets told in text and artwork on a 4X6 inch postcard. Doing this is, I’m sure, cathartic for some and frightening for others. I’ve even sent in one or two of my own secrets – but I’ll never tell whether they’ve been published on the site. I’m not always that forthcoming.

My daughter, who is being raised Catholic (despite my being nearly agnostic, leaning toward atheist) will soon be attending her first Reconciliation AKA: Confession.

Personally, I have no need for a priest to act as my “hyper-link to God.” I’ll use my blog to sing out my confessions to all who will hear them. Both of you.

(Or I’ll just keep them stoppered up inside, where they probably belong.)

Here goes: Over a year ago, my mom gave me a couple of pairs of my dad’s underwear while he was still alive but remained in a Hospice facility. She’d written his name on the waistband so the nursing staff would not mix his up with the underwear of others. By this time, however, he no longer needed his briefs. He was in adult-sized diapers.

It’s been about 10 months since he passed away. I’m still wearing his underwear, when they’re clean and available in my underwear drawer. I know it sounds really weird, but I feel, somehow, closer to dad when I wear his underwear. Not closer in a spiritual sense, since I don’t believe in spirits. But I often find that I do not spend much time thinking about my dad. Something needs to remind me of him first.

And how can I not be reminded of dad when I’m wearing his tighty-whities?

I don't think it's weird. As a man, I often wair women's underwaer. ;-)
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