New School Shoes

The year I was going into fourth grade, I started to feel very grown up. I would be ten that school year, and even though it would be more toward the end of the school year I still felt that entering my tenth year of life would be special for me somehow. I'd convinced myself that Gran might allow me to get my ears pierced. I wanted that so badly. All the other girls in the class had their ears pierced, and I was fascinated by the tiny little gemstones in their ears. It looked so delicate and beautiful. I'd read the book, "All of a kind family" and the subsequent series, and was absolutely convinced that I should have my ears pierced at ten years old, as Sara did. I asked my friends endlessly about the process, and was not one bit scared. I didn't care how much it hurt. The payoff would be worth it. I wanted little pearls in my ears, and would suffer any amount of pain to get them.

Before the school year started, we went on our yearly trip to Buster Brown, to get new shoes. This always excited me, it was my favorite part of back to school. I loved the smell of the new shoes. They were an ugly maroon oxford shoe, terribly sensible, and very uncomfortable for the first month. But they were brand new, smelled wonderfully leathery, and were very shiny and new. We didn't have to share them, as we had to share every single other thing in our lives. They were all ours. I loved new shoe shopping.

As we rode to the store, I heard Gran tell Gramps that the prices of new shoes were going up, and it would be quite a bit more expensive than last year. In my young nine year old mind, I thought about another book I had read in the "Little House" series, where they were too poor to afford shoes, and worried that we might be too poor to keep getting new shoes. I was an avid reader even back then, and what I read really resonated with me. I started wondering if Gran would love me more if I just wore Maureen's hand me down shoes. I started thinking about it, and as much as I wanted the new shoes, I wanted Gran's love and approval even more.

Gran scared me most of the time. She could be fine one minute, then in an instant, she'd change, fly off the handle, and start screaming at us and then the spankings would start. Or worse, that dreaded window shade stick would be wielded. That stick really hurt. Maybe if I showed her that I really was willing to help by wearing hand me down shoes, she might not scream at me so much.

We got to Buster Brown, and started getting fitted for new shoes. Maureen was having her foot measured, and I turned to Gran and timidly asked her if she thought Maureen's old shoes might fit me this year. She looked surprised, and said she didn't see why not. She went over to Gramps, who was helping Harlan with his new shoes, and whispered something to him. I saw him nod his head, smiling, and I pressed on by saying that they didn't need to buy me new shoes, that I'd shine Maureen's old ones and wear them for that year. I felt a disappointment in my chest at missing out on new shoes, but the look of pride on Gran's face, ever fleeting, was enough for me.

By the time we rode home, she was back to her usual grumpy self, and even yelled at me for singing too loud in the van.

Once home, Maureen unpacked her new shoes, and I compared them to her old ones. They looked dreadful, all scuffed and old looking. They didn't have that wonderful new shoe smell, and I wondered if they'd even look good after I polished them.
I tried to look on the bright side, as I didn't have to endure the blistered heels while breaking them in. That was something at least. They were already quite broken in and comfortable.


I never got new school shoes again after that. I always had to wear Maureen's old ones.

No good deed goes unpunished.

In May, my birthday came and went, and I was not allowed to get my ears pierced. I was bitterly disappointed. It seemed that no matter how good I tried to be, there would be no reward. I resolved to get my ears pierced the very instant I got permission to do so. I wondered why the people in the books had such a much more loving family than I did. They were poor, they didn't have much, but they had the unconditional love of their parents, and I really craved that. I was learning in my young mind that love is completely conditional. I hoped that someday when I had children, that I would never make them feel the way I felt growing up. Instead of a kind word, I'd get yelled at to shut up. No accomplishment was met with pride, but derision. If I showed any pride at all in an accomplishment, I was told I was conceited. So, I stopped doing anything that would make me feel at all accomplished. I learned to take no pride in anything I did, as I was afraid I'd be "conceited" if I did so. I often wonder what went through Gran's mind when she'd teach us to despise ourselves. Was she doing it because she thought it was proper child rearing? Or did she get a sick rush of glee at the misery on our faces?

It has been thirty some years since that year, and I am only now beginning to realize that it is ok to like myself, be proud of my accomplishments, no matter how small, and to be good to myself. It hasn't been easy.