When I was a kid my mother insisted that I wear dress shoes
everywhere. I was allowed to have a pair of “gym” shoes but I was not allowed
to wear them around like the other kids. My mother had a
thing about shoes. She was deathly afraid that any of her children’s feet would
go bad. In junior high school, during
winter, she made me wear yellow fireman’s boots with big buckles; two sizes too
big so my dress shoes would fit in them.
You couldn’t ruin your two-toned “Buster Brown’s. One day my friend Kowalski asked me, “Does your mom make you wear those shoes?” I embarrassingly nodded. He said, “Well it’s
your mom and hard as it is; she’s your mom and you gotta listen to her.”
One year my grandmother bought me a pair of Ked’s Flyers in
her small Indian town’s shoe shop, because I coveted them. Their tagline was, “Run faster and jump
higher in Keds.” My grandfather took me across the road from their house to the
county fairgrounds and timed me as I ran around the horse track. He said to me
when I was done, ”Good job, but remember,Tommy, it’s not about the shoes; it’s
about who wears them.” I always liked
that line.
When I was thirteen and very self-conscious, my father took
me to the mall and said, “You need better jeans than Toughskins and new shoes
so you look normal. We went to the County Seat and got me some pairs of jeans,
another place to get some sneakers and he bought me a couple of long-sleeved
plaid shirts that I wore everywhere after that with (dear God!) puka shells around my neck. I asked him, “What is the deal with mom
and the shoes?“ He replied to me, “I’ll
tell you later.” That was the year of freedom when I was allowed to escape crew cuts and grow my hair as long as I wanted it.
When I was in college, despite working four jobs to stay in
school, I was very poor so what I would do was pay five dollars at the union
bowling alley, trade my shoes in for beige, green and red striped lane shoes
and then walk out. One day I walked in
and Murray, who ran the place, said, “T.S. when we rotate the shoes we give
them to Goodwill. “I said, “That is very nice.”
Murray smiled and said “T.S. we’re on to you. When you want new shoes go
to Goodwill.” I laughed and left. I
started buying my shoes at Goodwill. That being said my bowling shoes became a signature of my
personal fashion.
When I was late in college, home for a bit, and needed to
start thinking about what I would do after I graduated, my father came to me
and said, “I have enough to buy you a suit and some good shoes.” We went into the city to Maxwell Street to a tailor who had
put together suits for my father since he first came to Chicago. We had a couple of nice Italian beef
sandwiches. We then went to Florsheim’s
and I got my first set of black wingtips.
I hated them but my father said, “You’ll appreciate them later. They’re
like camels in the desert.” He was right.
When my college roommate, Geoff, and I were interviewing, and hanging our bong letters on the wall, tired from talking to people in our suits, and drinking beer. I asked, “When was it that we become our fathers?” He said, “I don’t know, have we really? That sucks....On the other hand, we both have really nice shoes. Lets walk them to Murphy’s.” It was at that time that I shaved my beard off, got my hair cut and stopped dressing like a hippie. Looking at my shiny black shoes I realized it was time to grow up.
When my college roommate, Geoff, and I were interviewing, and hanging our bong letters on the wall, tired from talking to people in our suits, and drinking beer. I asked, “When was it that we become our fathers?” He said, “I don’t know, have we really? That sucks....On the other hand, we both have really nice shoes. Lets walk them to Murphy’s.” It was at that time that I shaved my beard off, got my hair cut and stopped dressing like a hippie. Looking at my shiny black shoes I realized it was time to grow up.
One time my father came to visit me in Champaign and we got
into a deep conversation. I asked him, “What is the deal with Mom and shoes, and
why do her pinky toes lay over the other ones?”
He told me, “When your mother was young they were dirt poor during the
end of the Depression. She didn’t have indoor plumbing until she was twelve. Every Christmas she got some art
supplies, a book, and a pair of shoes that sometimes didn’t fit her. Shoes
and books are very important to her.”
Not too long ago my daughter asked me look at a cut on her foot and I noticed that she has overlaying pinky toes. “Wow,” I said. “Maybe it is not about the shoes but maybe just more about genetics.” I haven’t figured that one out yet but we always make sure Meredith has the right shoes because she has “Patra toes.” She laughs about them, which I like. She is an awful like her grandmother who she never met, because Patra died when I was 24.
Not too long ago my daughter asked me look at a cut on her foot and I noticed that she has overlaying pinky toes. “Wow,” I said. “Maybe it is not about the shoes but maybe just more about genetics.” I haven’t figured that one out yet but we always make sure Meredith has the right shoes because she has “Patra toes.” She laughs about them, which I like. She is an awful like her grandmother who she never met, because Patra died when I was 24.
When my grandmother, my mother’s mom, who was our mom for
long time after my mother left, then also left us at the age of 96, we had to clean
out her house out and we found in her closet over 100 pairs of shoes she had
collected. Apparently shoes were her compulsion and indulgence. There were
pumps, flats, and espadrilles in every color to match every one of her outfits. We donated them because that is what she
would have wanted, so someone else could have some shoes. It is funny how shoes can become such a very important part
of your life.
For a large part of my career had to visit Washington DC a
lot. One day when I had some
free time I visited the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum. There is hall there
and when you walk through it, it is very hard not to cry. It contains 1,000
shoes of the people who died in that atrocity. I defy anyone who walks through that room and
doesn’t have some sense of emotion about the senseless maasacre of so many innocents…and
how they stole their shoes. Along with death, the ultimate humiliation.
I used to be very embarrassed about my
shoes because I don't spend a lot of money on them or keep them up but I’m not now. I consider myself very lucky that I have three pairs. I have a pair of “gym” shoes that I rarely use, a pair of casual brown shoes that look a
lot like bowling shoes, and, of course, a pair of black wing tips.
I’m very
fortunate that I can get up each morning and put my feet into one set or
another. I have never had to worry about
not having shoes.
I wish everyone here and done could feel that way too.
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