These Shoes: A memoir

In the 5^th grade, a classmate asked me why I wore the same jeans everyday. Yes, she hurt my feelings and upset me. But whatever.

Mom says I’ve been like that my whole life. I didn’t care what people thought, especially when it came to my clothes. I sometimes think otherwise, but I know I didn’t stress over it much.

Still today, my closet looks practically empty to others I’ve seen. Especially my sister’s closet — three of the same shirts in different colors. Come on. I have a select few pair of dress shirts that I wear to work. I have that one pair of black pants that I love, one pair of jeans that fit just right, one pair of corteroid pants that I can’t get rid off, and a pair of black heels that are basically falling apart.  But I just can’t seem to part with them either — the heels that is.

“These shoes” have history. They have a story. And when you throw something away, that story ends. Ok, not really, but you get what I'm trying to say right?

I’ve fought and preached to my parents about their innate ability to throw stuff away. Albums were put curbside, books were tossed, video camera – forget about it. I guess I’m a hoarder of all things with a past, with a story. You could say I take after my Grandpa Smith, though I think most of the stuff he hoards in his garage aren’t exactly items with a story. Old scrap wood and tools don’t really have much to say.

I have a hope chest. And inside that hope chest are things of my past that I treasure. All of the playbooks from Broadway plays I’ve been too with the tickets, old letters I received from friends in middle school and high school, pictures and my scrapbook. I also have my prom purse with hankerchief my grandma gave me to take along. The jewelry that my aunt bought me is also inside. I still have my prom dress and my old flute from middle school. It’s almost like a bank of my memories. Because I know I’m already starting to forget stuff.

But going back to the shoes. “These shoes” were on my feet when I landed my first full-time, professional writing job at a small town newspaper. These shoes also took me all the way to California. Before I moved, I did get rid of a lot of stuff that was in my hope chest, which included some softball trophies and N'SYNC memorabilia. It was hard. It was sad.

But I got over it. And it’s now time to retire “these shoes” to the hope chest. I’m keeping them because, well, there are many reasons you could say. For me, it’s for the memories. For others it’s because I have a really bad case of letting go. Or OCD. Whichever it is, “these shoes” were some pretty cool shoes. I’ll miss them.