The Sock Rebellion
I was 14 years old and living in suburbia with my parents, two younger sisters, one younger brother and two cats. I had returned home from school one day, kicked off my shoes by the top of the stairs and hung up my backpack in the hallway closet. After closing the door, I noticed an anomaly lying on the beige carpet in our tidy home, a single white sock lying upon the floor, some distance from any hamper. I walked over and picked up the sock, examining it for anything unusual before shrugging and tossing it into the closest laundry basket. I couldn’t have known at the time, but this unexceptional event was my introduction to the Sock Rebellion, and the moment I became a soldier in the lifelong conflict.
