While writing about the contest at Scribbit in which I entered my z-coil post, an embryo of another article was conceived. I began looking back at how shoes tell the story of my life.
Like most other people, I was born barefoot. I know that at some point shortly after that those cute little feet were forced into a pair of shoes. No, I don’t remember the restriction of having those little bits of leather on my feet or not being able to freely wiggle my toes. Instead I had a bronzed beauty of that little shoe. The laces weren’t even tied before they were bronzed. Just hanging down unceremoniously. I would have thought if someone was going through all that trouble, they might have made them look a little neater. Maybe they were supposed to look like I’d just managed to kick them off. Exactly why did anyone want to pay to have a pair of old shoes memorialized? It’s for sure no one else was going to put a foot into that stiff little thing. I suppose it could have been used for a vase, but we had just barely emerged from the cave age when my foot was that little. There were no artificial flowers back then and water wouldn’t have done so well in there. It could have been used as a pencil holder. Did they have pencils back then? I think they must have. They didn’t have ballpoints. It would be years before anyone clicked their Bic.
I remember those little black patent Mary Janes I wore when I was about three. They were so beautiful and shiny when my mother put them on me. I don’t know why she expected them to stay that way when my feet just had to run and jump when I was outside. She used to sigh when she’d say, “You can dress her up, but you can’t take her out.”
The next phase of my life involved the magnificent horse at the shoe store and Buster Brown shoes. (Tige was in there, too.) That horse was a huge, beautiful beast. I did my darndest to be patient while I stood to have my feet measured and then sat to have them crammed into countless pairs of shoes until the salesman found the pair that both fit just right and pleased my mother. Then the magical reward came when the salesman would lift me up and set me on the horse. This was no little horse like you see on kiddie rides today. This one was even better than the ones on the merry-go-round. I would hold the leather reins and pretend like I was a princess riding to my castle. I was up so high and I saw the world so differently than when I was that little girl standing down on the floor.
Then came the barefoot years. I didn’t leave those years behind until I was forced to after foot surgery. This part of my life was interspersed with shoes, but the freedom of kicking off those shoes was wonderful. I was barefoot in the grass, the mud, the sand, the pebbles, the white rock in the driveway and even the snow. We lived in a rural setting during the barefoot in the snow years. The mailbox was on the other side of the street and I saw no reason to put on shoes just to run out and get the mail (especially if Mother wasn’t around to catch me).
Then came the years of rock and roll, American Bandstand, saddle shoes and penny loafers. Those were important shoe years. After all, you just didn’t jitterbug barefoot. You either wore shoes or if you went to a sock hop, you danced in your socks. Being barefoot didn’t let you slide and get the dance moves right unless you were at home practicing on the carpet. Besides, the chaperons would have choked on the punch if you had naked feet.
Ahhh The Capezio years followed. I was never one to want to blend in with the crowd during my teen years. Now it appears that the teen bunch want to all look alike. I gloried in being different. I discovered Capezio shoes. My shoes never looked like those of anyone else during those years. Somewhere along the line, it appears that Capezio stopped making shoes for street wear. When I looked them up all I could find is the dance shoes for which they are famous. Although, I did wear Capezio ballet, pointe and tap shoes at one point in my life.
As I began to grow into a young woman it was black flats followed by black heels with a brief interlude of black t-straps. The black flats walked me through my beatnik phase into Friday night movie dates. Senior year of high school the black flats were de rigour. We didn’t wear sneakers and jeans to school back in the dark ages. We couldn’t even believe they began to allow us to wear slacks shortly before graduation.
Then came the sandals and Keds which carried me through most of my days as a wife and young mother. I put a lot of miles on those. And the heels were there for church and dress up occasions. Boots in the winter. We all loved Nancy Sinatra’s These Boots Were Made For Walking. We didn’t expect her to have Frank’s vocal cords. We just loved the part about “They’re gonna walk all over you!.” I’m sure I wore something besides boots in the cold Midwestern winters, but I don’t remember what. I try not to think about the winters of my life, past or present.
And then the nursing shoes walked into my life. Actually it was closer to running as I worked ER, critical care and many other specialties. They kept me running until I up and ran away to sea. Still nursing, but in white flats with my day uniform and white heels with my evening uniform. Eventually the company changed dress uniforms to navy blue. Once again I was back in black heels and sometimes black flats if I was on call. Still some running to do at times.
While working at sea, I began setting up ships with my mentor and friend Pat who introduced me to New York City and Birkenstock. Oh, my. I’ve found the most comfortable shoes. I want to live in my Jesus sandals forever.
Then came Italy and my “happy feet shoes.” I don’t remember why I wasn’t wearing my Birks that day. I had been in Italy about a week when some friends who had been there longer decided they had to have McDonald’s. Mickie D sounded good to me, so my daughter, Sue, my cow loving friend and I decided to go McDonald shopping. This was not an easy thing to do. We were in Monfalcone and needed to get to Trieste. So we walked about 30 minutes to the train station, took the train for about 45 minutes and then walked another half hour to the cutest little fast food joint ever. I don’t remember what I had on my feet, but I do remember how my feet felt. There was no way I was going to make it back to my ship without being maimed for life. We found a shoe store nearby and I bought my first pair of sneakers/walking shoes. Those Pumas made my feet happy for years. They had to literally fall apart before I would buy another pair of athletic shoes.
Now that I’ve retired from ships, I’m living the laid back (well sort of laid back) Florida lifestyle. I’m back in the Birks and loving it. Still had the athletic shoes for work until I found a new love. New Balance sounded too good to be true, so I tried them on and ended up buying a pair of black and a pair of white. Out with the athletic shoes. I’ve found new happy feet shoes.
But I’ve been thinking about those z-coils. I’ve already purchased some speed laces. The shoes of my life say I’m fickle, but look more closely and you’ll see a lot of loyalty there, too. I still love my Birks.