I was born with squashed up, turned in feet. Not quite bad enough to be in a cast, but enough for special shoes. Hard leather encasements that turned my feet outward, and provided me hours of cradle kicking, noise making fun. I still have a pair of those shoes, the toes cut out to extend the life of expensive orthopedic footgear for the rapidly growing baby of a strictly working class family. Poor mom, she stood 4'11", and I weighed in at 8 pounds 10 ounces (3.1 Kg).
I grew up with a pragmatic view of shoes. Fitting them was a trip to Allen Park, and a special shoe store for my Buster Brown shoes. I was fitted and fitted and fitted, with little regard for style. No, utterly no regard for style. But when the new shoes fit, they felt so good, I didn't much care. Some were even two-tone! I had good shoes for church, and school shoes for the rest of the week. I went barefoot whenever I could. Add in cheap pink ballet slippers, snow boots, and galoshes handed down from brothers.
Oh, there was that pair of white shoes for First Communion, bought too big so I would grow, but I didn't, and I found out the joys of heel blisters.
High school meant the same penny loafers that my mother had, genetically wide feet shared as well. But I kept growing, as did my shoe size. I would have knock-off Earth Shoes, and crepe soled Hush Puppies. Sensible shoes. Wide shoes.
Out on my own income, I got cheap cloth shoes. And let my arches fall. I had high heel character shoes as required by theater dance classes. Those would last me through two weddings, and every event seeming to need dressy shoes, amidst.
The Army gave me boots, and, used to trying on many shoes, and urged by my Drill Sergeant to make sure they fit, I bloody well did. No arch support, but they never gave me blisters. Cheap running shoes for PT.
White sneakers for nursing school, leather Avias that I could put white polish on, and keep going. Tried a pair of branded 'nursing' shoes that hurt, and were discarded in disgust for the waste.
I've had Birkenstocks and Tevas for summer and socklessness. All deteriorated now, long gone.
Today, I have a pair of light hiking shoes at work, that never leave, nor bring home OR contamination. I keep shoe covers on them, and they are always visibly clean, with good arch supports. Similar shoes for my daily walking.
And today, I have a pair of soft, wide, bright yellow shoes, with air holes. It's been a long time since I felt the childish delight of a brand new pair of shoes gleaming on my feet. But there they are. Inexplicably yellow, not a color I generally like.
Silly, but practical. Hey, the shoe fit. What else could I do?
8 comments:
Those are so fun! Joyful!
Narrow feet. AA. In my childhood, zapped with X-rays right in the shoe store to make sure they fit. My mother, a maniac for not-ruining-feet.
Savage shoes, brown, lace-up oxfords.
My aunt's wedding, when I was nine and Flower Girl, my mother relented and bought cheap white patent leather shoes to go with my yellow dress. I wore them until the soles flapped.
Later, stilettos and red strappy heels - the anti-oxfords.
So I completely understand the attraction of brilliant yellow shoes.
"If the shoe fits, blog it."
'You're walking on sunshine,woooah
And don't it feel good!! '
Love the idea of an (auto)biography of one's feet.
Feet: A Fundamental Biographical Journey.
You do choose good subjects to write about. ... you're inspiring me. Excellent post.
For the record, size 43 European (I think something like 11 1/2 US??). Narrow at heel, wide at toes.
I live in trainers except when I'm getting dressed up when I have a couple of pairs of classy but desprately uncomfortable elegant shoes. Or boots under a trouser suit for the office stuff.
I would love some yellow shoes with airholes *sigh*.
Great post, great comments. Mary, I hope you find your yellow shoes someday.
Zhoen: thanks for the info
Udge: Ah, thank you too ....
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