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.
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.