There is a commercial for a credit card company that asks, “What’s in your wallet?” I could take some time to tell you, but I’ll let you in on a clue—it’s not money. Instead, I will tell you what is, or at least what used to be, in my pocket.
Which pocket, you ask. Let’s start with the right pants pocket. In one of my doctoral classes at Lincoln Memorial University we were assigned to share the contents of our pockets, but not our identities. From those contents, we were then supposed to try to determine what we could about the owner.
Most prominent in my right pants pocket of that particular day was a set of keys. It was a pretty big set, as my house at the time had several different doors, each with a different lock. There were also keys from about three older model cars, along with several keys that went to locks from days in the past.
The most interesting thing that a person guessed about my identity from those keys was that I must be a very important person to carry all those keys. This person would have probably though me a dignitary if they had known that I had another set of keys in the left pants pocket!
Want to know the truth about my identity based on those keys?
First, having keys that no longer go to anything shows my inability to let go of the past. I have hidden fears that in throwing away those keys I will inadvertently throw away a key that is indeed important to the present. Second, having all those keys shows my insecurity. Holding on those keys provides a measure of comfort, reminders of the past when things that were so important are no longer so.
I never carried anything in my shirt pocket until I entered Lincoln Memorial University as a freshman. Surrounding businesses contributed items to our student orientation packets, mainly discount coupons and teasers to remind us of supporting businesses and the services they could provide. One of those businesses supplied a pocket protector.
I almost titled this article “Do You Use Protection”, but I thought that might be a little too risqué for some of the more delicate readers. I can hear the younger generation saying, “A pocket what?” (Read the fascinating Wikipedia article on this subject.) A pocket protector was a vinyl or plastic sleeve that was inserted into a shirt pocket. Ink pens were placed in the pocket so that their bottoms would slide inside the sleeve—then, if ink leaked from the pen, the ink would spill inside the protective sleeve, not onto the fabric of the shirt. Get the connection?
I began wearing the bright red pocket protector just to put it to use. I was raised to utilize anything useful until it could no longer serve its purpose. I don’t know which sponsor supplied our freshman class of 1983-84 with those pocket protectors, but it had to be an older man, as most women don’t have pockets on their shirts/blouses, and wouldn’t carry things in them if they did. Also, it wasn’t cool in the 1980’s to wear pocket protectors, and it hadn’t been for a good many years beforehand. It hasn’t been since, either. But that protector fit my “uncool” image. I also wore a blue leisure coat that autumn (uncool) with bell bottom jeans (uncool) that were about an inch too short (very uncool). I wore glasses with heavy plastic frames (uncool), and most of the time I seemed to need a haircut badly (also uncool). And to think that a pretty former high school cheerleader consented to be my college sweetheart! Sometimes life is so cool, even in nerdy situations.
Given a choice between “cool” and useful, give me useful every time. I used that pocket protector until it “wore out”. I would have replaced it with another could I have found one, but do you think any other freshmen kept theirs? Hardly. But my habit was formed. To this day, even without the pocket protector, I am uncomfortable in a dress shirt if it doesn’t have a pocket over the left side of my chest. Yesterday I put on a red shirt to wear to church and found myself somewhat distressed that it had no pocket. Believe it or not, I made it through the entire Sunday school and worship service without even a pocket to stuff.
Today I am going to share with you, Faithful Reader, the contents of my shirt pocket: a receipt for two cheeseburgers I bought for lunch at McDonald’s a couple of hours ago; some Subway coupons that ran out of date last Friday (I trashed them); a $50 Visa gift card (possibly depleted); a Sams’ Club gift card; a reminder of a doctor appointment next week; a note for a possible idea for a future article; a raffle ticket; a Shoney’s senior discount card; my old driver’s license that expired a year ago; a colleague’s business card with another business name on back; a shell gift card, possibly also depleted; more article ideas; another McDonald’s receipt; two receipts from O’Charleys; a COVID-19 vaccine sticker; my COVID-19 vaccination record card; receipt from doctor with more article ideas on back; notes to a published article with more article and internet search ideas; receipt for my wife’s physical therapy; a Cracker Barrel gift card; more article ideas; sermon notes; more article ideas; a Food City receipt; a voided check; an Ollie’s card; a business address my wife gave me; a note with mixed messages/reminders; a package of iodized salt; a random piece of card stock that I use for a bookmark; a dentist appointment reminder; a Darden gift card; another doctor receipt with assorted notes and crude drawings; an uncashed travel check; an almost two year old check for a donation; the hospital room number of a now deceased friend; an ink pen; and a partridge in a pear tree (not).
Think of me what you will, this might give you who know me more insight into my personality. It may make those of you who don’t know me thankful that you don’t, and if any of you decide by these contents that you’d like to know me better, you can reach me through historicunioncounty.com where you’ll also find the answer to the question posed in last week’s article—the black box in a commercial airplane is actually orange. Join me next week when I begin sharing tidbits of information that will make you smarter. Until then, consider the following from my world of email.

Thomas Jefferson could write in Greek with one hand,
while writing the same in Latin with the other.

I’m a senior citizen.
I don't always go the extra mile,
but when I do it's because I've missed my exit
(and have been doing so since I learned to drive).
Thank God for GPS!