By Geralyn Arango 
At some point many decades ago, the brown cardboard box my uncle Alwyn Harry, S.J. traveled with held Bachelor’s Friend Sox. “Laundry tested and approved,” these black nylon socks boasted a guarantee of six months of wear or six new pairs free. Perhaps they earned the title of bachelor’s friend because of the simplicity they assured the single man: when the socks came out of the wash, there would be no need to match them up since they were identical. If the socks wore out before six months wear, there was always the promise of free replacement.
Perhaps Bachelor’s Friend Sox were created for the man whose tastes were uncomplicated, but whose need for simplicity and practicality was great. Maybe that’s why my Uncle Alwyn, a Jesuit working in the slums of Kingston, Jamaica in the 1970s and 80s, bought these particular socks in the first place. By the time my sister Gail and I encountered the Bachelor’s Friend Sox box, however, this cardboard container had outlasted its contents and found a new use.
As young children, Gail and I ritualistically slipped into the guest room when Uncle Alwyn visited in search of one particular unpacked item. Our uncle carried just a small suitcase no matter how long he planned to visit us (his Bronx relations), and as Uncle Alwyn unpacked his belongings, we watched in anticipation of the return of the Bachelor’s Friend Sox box.
We giggled as he placed it on the dresser yet again, just a little more tattered than it was the year before. In our time, the sox box never actually contained socks, but rather our uncle’s toothbrush, soap, razor, and comb—the usual accouterments of the traveling man. The contradiction of socks to stuff always amused and intrigued his two grade-school nieces.
Why would a priest place his toiletries in an old box made for socks, or rather, “sox”? Why would he choose to tape it together and secure it with a rubber band year after year instead of buying a toiletry bag like our father had? Why didn’t he just buy a travel case for his personal items and throw that old box away?
My sister and I never did ask Uncle Alwyn any of those questions in his lifetime. We can only guess based on the person we knew him to be what his answers might have been. We can only assume based on his years of service in the slums of Jamaica or his ministry to those on death row that he was likely more focused on his work than on creature comforts. In the decades that have passed since two little girls peeked into their uncle’s room, the question for me has become why is an old socks box one of the most enduring and endearing memories I have of my uncle the Jesuit?
Rather than answer this question, I decided to be thankful for it. I choose now to be grateful for the gift of his memory and my uncle that God has sustained in me through the years. The Bachelor’s Friend Sox box is a reminder not only of wonderful visits by my Uncle Alwyn but a reminder that keeping some parts of life simple can provide freedom to live abundantly.
My uncle’s choices in this life seemed always to support his priorities. Uncle Alwyn possessed the basics he needed to maintain his physical health, and some of them were simple enough to fit into a box that once held a half-dozen socks. Perhaps then the rest of his attention could better focus on his ministries to the poorest of Jamaica and the physical and spiritual needs of those he served.
As I look at the photo of the Sox box, I wonder how I can better prioritize, to fix what I need to maintain my own health into a simpler container within my life so I too can focus. Can I do better in giving my attention to my own ministries of mother, wife, teacher, sister, daughter, and friend if I can make simplicity a priority? The memory of my Uncle Alwyn’s Bachelor’s Friend Sox box sitting atop the chest of drawers in our family’s guest room of long ago is all about the value of uncomplicating some parts of life in order to live our days more fully and meaningfully.
Gail and I were teenagers the year our uncle’s sox box was finally replaced by a simple black leather bag. Uncle Alwyn just smiled when we expressed our disappointment at the absence of that which we looked forward to discovering as an essential and fun feature of his visits. The sox box had indeed been retired at last, replaced by a toiletry bag like our father had.
Gail and I assumed the box had become too fragile to use, and Uncle Alwyn just decided to continue to meet this basic need with another container. We probably gave it more thought than he did! This simple change allowed our uncle one more way to keep the focus on his true priorities. Can I keep my needs uncomplicated enough to allow my focus to stay on my true priorities and embrace change with acceptance and grace?
My sister Gail found a Bachelor’s Friend Sox box in an antique display at a store last year. Despite her offers, the owner would not sell it to her. Perhaps it had deeper meaning to him too.
Originally published on Catholic365
by Christian Simmers 
by Stephanie Thompson 
