I'm not sure if it came from her high school Home Economics class or the Lutheran Church, but my mother grew up with the notion instilled in her that nothing could be quite so shameful as being hauled to the doctor in dirty underwear. It was as if clean shorts were critical to the recovery process. Or maybe some doctors just wouldn't take a patient with soiled undies.

“Doctor! Quickly! This one has a sucking chest wound!”

“Sorry, Nurse. Look at those underwear. He's not going to make it.”

You know, I am going to start a franchise. I'm surprised no one has thought of this. I am going to set up booths at the emergency doors of every hospital and sell clean underwear for $1,000 a pair. Fifteen hundred for the sexy stuff. If it goes well, we may branch out and set up Bender Booty Boutiques at dentists, optometrists and possibly nail salons.

Mom wasn't alone in this belief. All mothers believed the same thing.
I remember when I was 6 and my little sister, Sherry, split her forehead open like a melon. The first thing Mom did was call the Ashley Hospital. The second was to put clean underwear on my sister, which is why she is alive today.

Before privacy regulations, it was common for local papers to publish hospital admissions and dismissals, so burglars could more effectively schedule their work. But some names were in bold print, which I later learned was code for dirty shorts. It was not uncommon to see a package of underwear included with a decorative vase of get-well roses delivered by the florist.

Seriously, if Tom Cruise told us the importance of clean underwear in Scientology, that would be the last straw. We would have to haul him in for immediate observation. But moms get away with it.

The whole underwear game has changed. Back in the 1970s is when men's underwear started getting really colorful. Before that, you had to spill Cherry Sloe Gin or Lime Vodka in your lap. My friend, Leroy, and I decided it was really a waste to have such great underwear no one could see. So we took to leaving our zippers wide open as we walked around the school. This greatly embarrassed the teachers who kept hoping someone - anyone - would tell us our barn doors were open.

I went mostly for bright colors. Leroy liked cartoons. It was somewhat disconcerting to see Underdog peeking out of his fly. Sure, it may have been wrong, but we left no doubt as to the cleanliness of our underwear. Leroy went into the Air Force after high school, which pretty much ended that sort of thing. It may be OK in the Navy, however.

I went into radio, where nudity and substance abuse were mandatory, often at the same time. I got hooked on Smith Brothers licorice flavored cough drops. It took a 12- step program to shake the habit, but I cough more now. When Rush Limbaugh's Ditto Cam is not active, now you know why. He is not wearing any underwear and is snorting crushed Tic-Tacs off the counter.

At this point, you are probably wondering what all of this has to do with Mother's Day? Nothing whatsoever, but I am on a roll here, so leave me be.

As Sen. Byron Dorgan lamented in his book, “Take This Job and Ship It,” Fruit of the Loom underwear is no longer made in America. We literally lost our shorts. Clearly, we need more underwear legislation. And thank God someone in Washington is watching out for our skivvies.

On a personal level, I find this tragic. In college, I met this stunning southern girl who worked summers at the Fruit of the Loom factory. Once, the guys on my floor panty raided her floor, and let me tell you, her underwear was really clean. Though she would never give me her number, she did confide that her Fruit of the Loom inspector number was 72, y'all.

You don't know how many packages of underwear I had to buy and return at K-Mart (which was increasingly difficult to explain) until I found underwear inspected by her. The seams were perfect and the elastic snappy. I still wear them for yard work to feel close to her. But if I am injured, before I go to the hospital, I will change.

In conclusion, Happy Mother's Day.

© Tony Bender, 2008

Editor's note: Watch for Tony's new novel, “If Every Month Were June,” to be released May 30. Advance sales through national online booksellers.