I remember the day I got them, the little red keds sneakers with the patch of white rubber on the top with the alphabets "L" for left and "R" for right written in black ink. I loved those little red shoes. Not only were they stylish and comfortable they helped me to remember my left from my right. The day I got my shoes I came down with the mumps. I had gotten a little dirt spot on my shoes string after insisting on running races all day. I wanted everyone to admire my new shoes as we put our feet at the starting point. I washed my shoe strings in the bathroom sink and laid them neatly beside my shoes on the backyard porch. The sun seemed extremely hot that day so I laid on the porch beside my shoes. I woke in a dark bedroom burning with fever and my cheeks were swollen. I looked like Alvin the chipmunk . I struggled in and out of consciousness asking about my shoes. Finally someone handed them to me, even the insidious mumps couldn't separate us.
I had just started kindergarten and we had to place our right hand over our hearts recite the pledge of allegiance. My greatest fear was that I would get it backwards and everyone would laugh at me like the adults laughed at me(even though I recited it to the "public" on which it stands and "invisible" with liberty and justice). I didn't want my peers to see how ridiculous I could be without even trying. I dreaded school from the day I started, everything about school was alien to me. The mean bully kids that picked on quiet kids like me, the strange hokey pokey dance that always left me confused as to which arm or leg to shake all about, and all the other anxious kids that looked scared and disconnected like me. If this what school was like I wanted no parts of it.
I could count to a hundred, I knew my alphabets, I knew all the basic colors and I could even read a few words(thanks to my parents) but that darn left and right never failed to confound me. All that changed when I got my new red kicks. Ha! Now I was the little girl that didn't put the wrong foot in or take the wrong foot out. I was the little girl that looked at her shoes for confirmation. I was the little fraud and cheat. I wanted to wear them every day so each night I would pray to be able to wear them the next day. Before the red shoes I prayed only the "now I lay me down to sleep" prayer. My little red shoes became sacred to me, my red canvas holy grail.
Then one day after they had gotten too tight and started unraveling on the sides. I awoke to an unspeakable horror. My little red shoes were gone, replaced by a pair of light gray and dark gray patent leather oxfords. I searched under beds and couches, in dark closets where monsters were known to lurk. My little red cheat sheets were gone. There was no trace of them anywhere. I got up the courage to ask my mother. I overheard her talking about me and the "raggedy little red shoes" on the phone once, so I knew their days were numbered. "Mama do you know where my red shoes are?" As many times as she has reprimand us for answering with a question, here she was doing exactly what she hated, "Don't you like your new shoes," she asked, trying to distract me. I would have none of it-she apparently didn't know what was at stake, I would be the only child in my class that funked the Hokey Pokey. "I like them, but I really really like my red ones," I said. She said, "but sweetie they are old and raggedy, your new shoes are much nicer."
That was the end of the conversation, my shoes like my nappy hair didn't fit the image; didn't make the cut. What my mother didn't suspect is that I would pray for my little red shoes. I put my little hands together and asked in the most humble and often repeated prayer, "God please help me find my shoes." Not long after my prayer I found my little red shoes. They were buried in the kitchen garbage under egg shells, bacon greased paper bag and bits of syrupy pancakes, remanents of Saturday morning breakfast. I pulled them out of the garbage and put them on. My little red shoes and I were together again. They saw my through many tough times; childhood illness, my first day of school, the national anthem and pledge, but most of all the dreaded Hokey Pokey.
My last memory of those shoes was the day I pulled them out of the garbage. I sat on the back porch with them on, and even though that had gotten too tight and coming loose at the seams I was happy to have them back. I remember thinking that I would love my new shoes if they were the exact same as my little red shoes. I don't remember what finally happened to them, maybe like an unwanted pet they were taken for a ride or to live on a farm. Maybe the memory is too traumatic for me to recall. They are gone but never forgotten. They live on in my memory and my mother's. She never fails to mention them in one of her, I'm going to tell an embarrassing story about you moments. They go hand in hand with the snaggletooth fuzzied headed picture reserved for unfortunate first dates that meet my mother.
I had just started kindergarten and we had to place our right hand over our hearts recite the pledge of allegiance. My greatest fear was that I would get it backwards and everyone would laugh at me like the adults laughed at me(even though I recited it to the "public" on which it stands and "invisible" with liberty and justice). I didn't want my peers to see how ridiculous I could be without even trying. I dreaded school from the day I started, everything about school was alien to me. The mean bully kids that picked on quiet kids like me, the strange hokey pokey dance that always left me confused as to which arm or leg to shake all about, and all the other anxious kids that looked scared and disconnected like me. If this what school was like I wanted no parts of it.
I could count to a hundred, I knew my alphabets, I knew all the basic colors and I could even read a few words(thanks to my parents) but that darn left and right never failed to confound me. All that changed when I got my new red kicks. Ha! Now I was the little girl that didn't put the wrong foot in or take the wrong foot out. I was the little girl that looked at her shoes for confirmation. I was the little fraud and cheat. I wanted to wear them every day so each night I would pray to be able to wear them the next day. Before the red shoes I prayed only the "now I lay me down to sleep" prayer. My little red shoes became sacred to me, my red canvas holy grail.
Then one day after they had gotten too tight and started unraveling on the sides. I awoke to an unspeakable horror. My little red shoes were gone, replaced by a pair of light gray and dark gray patent leather oxfords. I searched under beds and couches, in dark closets where monsters were known to lurk. My little red cheat sheets were gone. There was no trace of them anywhere. I got up the courage to ask my mother. I overheard her talking about me and the "raggedy little red shoes" on the phone once, so I knew their days were numbered. "Mama do you know where my red shoes are?" As many times as she has reprimand us for answering with a question, here she was doing exactly what she hated, "Don't you like your new shoes," she asked, trying to distract me. I would have none of it-she apparently didn't know what was at stake, I would be the only child in my class that funked the Hokey Pokey. "I like them, but I really really like my red ones," I said. She said, "but sweetie they are old and raggedy, your new shoes are much nicer."
That was the end of the conversation, my shoes like my nappy hair didn't fit the image; didn't make the cut. What my mother didn't suspect is that I would pray for my little red shoes. I put my little hands together and asked in the most humble and often repeated prayer, "God please help me find my shoes." Not long after my prayer I found my little red shoes. They were buried in the kitchen garbage under egg shells, bacon greased paper bag and bits of syrupy pancakes, remanents of Saturday morning breakfast. I pulled them out of the garbage and put them on. My little red shoes and I were together again. They saw my through many tough times; childhood illness, my first day of school, the national anthem and pledge, but most of all the dreaded Hokey Pokey.
My last memory of those shoes was the day I pulled them out of the garbage. I sat on the back porch with them on, and even though that had gotten too tight and coming loose at the seams I was happy to have them back. I remember thinking that I would love my new shoes if they were the exact same as my little red shoes. I don't remember what finally happened to them, maybe like an unwanted pet they were taken for a ride or to live on a farm. Maybe the memory is too traumatic for me to recall. They are gone but never forgotten. They live on in my memory and my mother's. She never fails to mention them in one of her, I'm going to tell an embarrassing story about you moments. They go hand in hand with the snaggletooth fuzzied headed picture reserved for unfortunate first dates that meet my mother.
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