“Who’s going to like a guy who’s just being funny and doesn’t even want to wear socks?”
– Son, a week before Christmas, 2009

Your mother, Son, your mother. And I’m not talking about your mother as your mother, if you know what I mean. If you don’t, let me explain. Your mother, my wife, the smiling little chickity that takes care of business in and around the house, once fell in love with a guy who was just being funny, and never, ever, wore socks in his shoes.

(He did wear shoes).

Yes, that would be me.

The photo up in the upper left corner of this page is, in other words, not just a clever photo idea by a clever AD – although it is that, too – but instead, it’s just me sitting on a bench one summer day whe we needed a photo for a column I wrote.

I can’t really remember how that happened. Gradually, I think, because I remember a friend always laughing at me walking around with no socks, and his thing was to say, “I guess it’s not winter yet because Risto hasn’t dug up his socks”. That would indicate that I then, at some point, did dig them out, and wear them.

That would be in the early 1990s.

I do know that it all started with hockey. First, I read in some book, most likely Wayne Gretzky’s 1987 biography that Paul Coffey, the star defenseman, wore skates that were two sizes smaller than his shoes, to get a better feel of the ice. He also played barefooted.

In 1990, I spent a summer working for Tackla in Canada, and that summer re-ignited my passion for hockey after a year of “focusing on my studies”. So much so, that when I then in August followed the Tackla crew to a sports trade show, I bought new skates at the show. CCM VakuTacks, the hottest stuff around at the time. They warmed up the boot, and when you put your foot in, the warm padding inside the boot then was formed around my ankle, giving it a perfect fit.

The salesperson told me to take my socks off. I did, possibly for good.

At some point, I just stopped putting on the socks after a hockey game, I suppose.

Still, back in 1995, I was still wearing socks with a suit. I had a nice job at the Canadian Embassy, and suit was what we wore. Suit and tie. Once, I had a turtleneck under my jacket, and my boss stopped me at the printer (which was the official watercooler around which we talked to badmouth the said boss). He gave me an elevator look and said, “what are you, a rabbi?”

So, suit and tie it was.

Three months into the job, I was sent to a forestry seminar in Brussels, Belgium. It was a big deal at the time, because the environmental organizations were on Canada’s case, and there was pressure to create a certification standard. So, it was decided that people from different Embassies around Europe would gather in Brussels for a little pow-wow.

Representing Finland: Risto Pakarinen.

I flew into Brussels on a Saturday – cheaper – and walked around the city, enjoying the per diem I was on. On Monday morning, when the symposium was about to start, I got up early, and put on my suit. A new tie I had bought the day before, and then just my socks and shoes.

No black socks in the suitcase. Not a pair. Not anywhere.

The store next to the hotel? Closed, due to a Belgian holiday.

What’s a forestry expert from Finland to do? I don’t know, because I wasn’t one, but I just put on my shoes, tried to pull my suit pants down as much as possible, although not to any hip-hop lengths, and hope that they would cover my whiter-than-white ankles.

I took my place at the table and sat the entire day with my feet crossed at the ankles, under my chair.

And on Tuesday morning, before breakfast, I ran to the store next to the hotel.

“Excuse me, do you have socks?”

“Yes, sir, what kind?”

“Just regular black socks that I can wear with a suit.”

“What size, sir?”

“Um, 40, maybe.”

“Here we ha…”

“How much?”

“400 francs, sir.”

“I’ll take them, thanks.”

“Sure, let me just put them in a bag for you, sir…”

“No, no, I’ll wear them right now,” I said, took off my shoes, put the socks on, and went back to the hotel to talk listen to Canadian forestry experts.

The beginning of this habit may be a little blurry, but it is safe to say that I haven’t worn socks this side of the year 2000, so Wife has only known me as a barefooted funny guy.

Currently, I do own one pair of socks. Just in case. They’re black, and they might just be Belgian.