Humble Beginnings

I've found in life, that one can either pinpoint the exact moment they came to love something, or they can't at all. There is no in between. No, "I guess it was when...". No. It is, "I know exactly" or "I have no idea!"

I was five years old.

It was August, 1994, the start of my kindergarten year. An exciting time for any kid, and a proud moment for any parent. The start of an education is the beginning to a life of responsibility, and it all starts before you hit the age of six. My Grandparents were over the moon that I was starting school, and decided to take me out to The Bay downtown (down town people!) to buy a back-to-school 'ensemble' with shoes to match.

That's right.

Shoes.

Glorious, beautiful, sole-quenching shoes! Though at this time, I had no knowledge of these contraptions beyond the slip on Power Ranger runners with light-up heels that smelled of dead spiders and mold.

Little did I know, this day would play a part in my psychological need for shoes.

The Bay in it's glory days was an immaculately decorated department store in the heart of my city. Everything from designers jackets, furs and dresses, to shoes, table ware, crystal and petty point, all lined up on pristine glass counters and shining racks. Jewelery, perfume, cosmetics-- The Bay was destination shopping at it's finest. It's too bad that it has fallen so far from it's ranks as a high class store-- but I digress.

On that muggy August afternoon, I stepped through the revolving glass doors of that store, and rode the escalator with my Mom and my Grandparents. I felt so grown up, getting to pick out my very own outfit! I remember exactly I wanted a black velvet dress with polka dot sleeves, and pink tights. The best part-- I got it!

Then we came to shoe department. I was skeptical at first. How great could a pair of sneakers be? I already had the Power Ranger monstrosities strapped to my withering toes. Did I need another pair? Silly me. Of course I did.

Of course I needed the pair I spotted on a glass shelf, almost just out of my five year-old reach. They were black patent mary-janes with gold heart buckles and a small round heel. They were everything I never knew I needed in a shoe. The florescent lights of the fourth floor made the treated leather shine, and the gold buckles sparkle. I had to have them. Had to.

My Mom had the Sales Associate take them down from the shelf, where I immediately ripped off my smelly old runners, and placed my feet in to the mary-janes of my dreams. They were awesome. I remember smiling at my reflection in the back lit mirror, posing with my shoes on my feet, and my hair crimped and piled on my head like a cabbage patch kid. Suddenly the room melted away, and all I could see was my feet in those shoes.

How I was so naive. I never could have known that behind me my Mother and Grandma were purchasing a pair of plain black lace ups at the counter to my right. Never could have seen the Sales Associate come from around the corner, and hand my Mom a bag full of misery. Fake leather, square toed shoes! The horror!

When asked to take off the shoes, I hesitated. Why should I take them off, they were going to be mine! It was then I noticed the suspicious bag my Mom was holding. 'What's in there?' I asked. 'Shoes' she replied. How could that be? My dream shoes were still attached to my feet! What was she playing at?

My Grandma kenlt down beside me, pointing to the black patent wonders, "You can have shoes like this when you're older, Charlie. Those are grown up shoes."

Confusion struck me. I was grown up! I was going to start Kindergarten in a few weeks!

"Give the nice lady the shoes, dear," my Grandma said.

Reluctently I slipped off those mary-janes, and handed them to the SA, who gave me a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Come back in a few years, and pick out any shoes you like." she said.

With tears in my eyes, I stuck my white socked feet back in my smelly Power Ranger runners, and left The Bay with my fake leather black lace up square toed failures. But I never stopped thinking about those shoes. Every year, until I was eleven, I went with my Grandparents to The Bay, where I'd get a back-to-school outfit, and a new pair of shoes; and every year I looked for those beautiful patent shoes; and every year I left feeling disheartened when I couldn't find them.

I think, somehow, I'm still looking for those shoes. In every purchase I make, in every shoe I draw, or imagine, there is a little part of me that shouts: "there's nothing like a patent mary-jane with a heart buckle."

And there isn't.

I love shoes.