The Debate Goes On
Since the dawn of man, there has been one question that has stirred more debates amongst civilizations than any other. Do you prefer boxers or jockeys? Little did Adam know that his free swinging style around the garden a few years back would spawn this age old debate. If he and the Mrs. could have chilled out with the apple thing for awhile and at least set a precedent for the appropriate attire for hiding the male anatomy, and what ladies prefer, maybe we wouldn't be in the mess that we are in today. Just because they had some rib swapping and serpents to take care of, we're left holding the bag, so to speak. I've never been one to point fingers at those who prefer a different holster than myself. I've been a jockey man from the very day the safety pins with the blue tops were replaced by elastic. When you stop and think about it, in the beginning, you really don't have much choice. You just go with what your mother prefers to see you in, or what she would prefer that a total stranger see you in, if you happen to get hit by a truck on your way to kindergarten and must transported to the nearest hospital. Keeping that in mind, I must admit that most of the boys I encountered in the dressing room at Donner Pool on any give summer afternoon had mothers that preferred Sears or Fruit of the Loom jockey shorts. It's really not until much later in life, when your garden begins to grow that the pubescent male realizes that he has a choice in the matter. It's at that time, particularly if you grew up in the 50's, that you discover that your dad preferred boxers. Or, in my dad's case, an undergarment that resembled a torn up shop rag, that presented the daily dilemma of figuring out which holes to put one's legs through. I recall asking my mother once, why pop wore his style and I wore mine. The best answer I could get was, "He has always worn those, and little boys wear these." And from the looks of his, I think he had. It's safe to say that my dad wasn't much of a role model when it came to making my final decision on what to wear, but what not to wear. It was Luann Harrell and Mr. Reinhardt, my fifth grade teacher, that were the guiding influences on that decision. Luann was the first girl that I really had the hots for in life, other than Darlene on the Mickey Mouse Club. I held Luann's hand inside a desk during class, in the second grade. She also made my stomach feel like Christmas morning, five days a week. Alive or dead, I certainly didn't want Luann to see me in my father's version of boxers. That, because, the only pair I had ever seen were my dad's. I didn't realize that they came in other, less airy, styles. But perhaps the deciding factor in my life long commitment to jockeys, came in the boys bathroom, at Jefferson Elementary School. As a fifth grader, I was one of only three to make the sixth grade basketball team. So, while we were dressing for our first practice, our coach, Mr. Reinhardt, entered to make sure that we all would be sporting athletic supporters for our first practice. No, not PTA members but jock straps. He had mentioned to us that these hi tech devices would be an essential part of our attire when we made the team, but failed to mention why at the time. In just a few seconds, we were to find out. "Gentlemen, do we all have our jock straps today?" Of course we all answered �Yes�, even though we had no idea why this thing (that could serve as a paper wad shooter or high tech sling shot) was so essential to our survival on the court. "Good, it will keep your balls out of trouble." Jock strap, jockey underwear, sounded pretty close to me. Thus began my commitment to testicular safety and the wearing of jockey underwear for my remaining days on earth. This commitment has been rough at times, particularly when your mother decides to sew the fly shut on your Fruit of the Looms. It was always my understanding, that with jockeys or boxers, one would have a choice when it came to relieving ones self. A number one could be performed either delicately over the top, (making sure the elastic didn't snap) or through the uniquely designed, manufacturers portal. But NO! When your mother apparently had too much idle time on her hands, the options became limited. So be it at birth or the fifth grade, mothers continued to play a significant role in what garments would lurk beyond the view of the general public As to why this ritual was necessary in the Curtis home, it will always remain a mystery, because I never asked. But all of this gets us back to why we are here in the first place. There's been a lot of compost age, since I even considered dawning a pair of boxers. It really hasn't been an issue for me. I'll strap in my way, and you dangle yours, and life will go on. That was until my luggage was lost for a day or so after a recent trip. Yes, all of my jockeys were trying to add up a few more frequent flyer miles, at my expense. And since the thought of skinning up to a pair of Levi�s in the interim didn't have me jumping for joy at the chance to relive the good old days, it was off to the back of the chest of drawers. And there like an emergency shoot, when the main parachute fails to open, were a pair of worn out jockeys. Worn, being the operative word. Let's just say my dad would have been proud. Let�s just say day I spent in a pair of "what used to be's", was as free swinging as life could be in any pair of new boxers straight off the shelf. I'd forgotten what it was like when your genitalia turn into a wind chime with every movement. Perhaps pleasing to your ear, but gut wrenching at best, to the orchestra and the conductor. This experience, along with a computer buying expedition a couple of days later with my significant others daughter, had me really wondering, "Would there even be a debate over jockeys and boxers, if it weren't for women?" I say this, because of the accessories that are now available for computers, i.e., mouse pads. While thumbing through a vast array of pads that would certainly fit any taste, young lass gasped for joy when she saw the upper torso of "a hottie." According to Webster�s unabridged dictionary, a "hottie", as defined by young heterosexual females, is a stud muffin, whose picture alone causes twinges of the heart and cold sweats. "Oh wow Griz," that being me, "here's one with a hottie. I've got to have it." Little did Webster�s, or myself know, that a "hottie" becomes "unhottie" when it is discovered, upon further review in the stack, that the bottom of the "hottie" is sporting a pair of jockeys and not boxers.. "Griz, if he had been wearing boxers, I would have bought this mouse pad at any price. How uncool he looks in jockeys." We can only hope that the young man in the photo, on the mousepad, is of strong character. So where does this all leave us? I guess it leaves us exactly where we started, but with a little better understanding of why the controversy continues. Women. Who in this male crowd of humanity can admit during the �Wonder Years� that they accompanied their mother to the store, and had a say, when it was determined whether future soiling would occur in boxers or jockeys. And during the exploratory years that included your first cigar, sniffing and possibly tasting Revell plastic cement and trying on a pair of your dad's boxers to see what was so special about them (other than the built-in and manmade portals), what had the most influence on one of the biggest decisions of your life? Women. Scientists now claim that males who strap in with less structure have a better chance of producing the "All American Sperm" that can successfully make that long trek up the Erie Canal. And, as we have learned, women will be more willing for that boat ride to occur, when the captain of the ship is sporting boxers. So, do we wear jockey's to keep, "our balls out of trouble" or do we wear boxers to possibly get our balls into trouble. Not many options, and not many choices. If only Adam and the Mrs. could have spent a little more time on this, before going for that Granny Smith on branch number two. Yes, the debate does go on.
Copyright © 1994 Clark G Curtis |