A Walk in My Shoes

Today, I cleaned out my closet. As part of this bold and dangerous adventure, I threw out many pairs of shoes. Some, I was more than happy to see go. For example, the devil-shoes that gave me purple knots on my feet after a long day at an amusement park received a swift punt to the trash can and nothing more.

Others were more difficult to part with. One pair of flip-flops have had one foot (no pun intended) in the garbage for about a year, but I could never bring myself to throw them out. They went on my concert band field trip to a music festival freshman year, played football, been on many an adventure to the lake, come between my feet and scorching sand at the beach, as well as countless other expeditions I am failing to remember.

Also among the throw-aways were a brand-new-this-year pair of Charlotte Russe flip-flops that fell victim to a rainy day at Disney world. The poor fellas never had a chance.

I will especially miss the Converse knock-offs that went on a backyard adventure with my siblings and good friends. We made boats out of twigs and grass, then cheered them on as they floated down the creek, rescuing them when they got caught in floating forest debris. The shoes were so dirty afterwards that we threw them in the washing machine. (That works, by the way.)

I said goodbye to the flip-flops I took to Mexico, and the sneakers that got me through two seasons of marching band practices. I bid farewell to the most comfortable pair of dress shoes I have ever owned, and the black ballet flats that have cleaned almost as many theaters as I have, and stayed late on all those school nights sweeping the concession stand.

They were good shoes, but to put them through anything else would be cruel and unusual at this point. May they rest in peace.