It's sad, but true. I've become my father. Normally, I wouldn't wear these tired, scuffed old shoes to work because, well, they're tired, scuffed, and old. I bought them about 10 years when I changed jobs. They're size 8m Nunn Bush from some discount place or other. DSW maybe? I'm surprised they still fit and don't pinch. Nowadays I'm wearing an 8.5 or more often a 9. These shoes were my concession to going out in the "real world" and needing a pair of ordinary looking oxfords for my new consulting gig. But, in the spirit of my self-imposed challenge to wear a different pair of shoes every day for as long as I can maintain it, these don't look half as bad as one of my co-worker's shoes, that are torn, cracked, peeling nasty black vinyl lace up shoes from I dunno, WalMart? Target? PayLess?
So one might well ask, why do I still have these, given that I don't have a problem with donating my old stuff to the St. Vincent de Paul or other local charities like the State Hospital? Well for one they're kind of too beat up to want to give to some poor person, but more importantly, they're pretty good shoes, leather uppers, soft rubber sole, very comfortable, so I use them when I'm working in the garage. And that's when I hear my father, when I say: "there's nothing wrong with these shoes! Why get rid of usable shoes just because they're a little worn? You can still work in the yard in them." I've caught myself doing that with old work chinos lately. Maybe they got an ink stain in the pocket where I keep my pen, maybe they just got a little too worn. Perfectly good for painting in!
There is also the sentimental aspect of clothing, shoes in particular. I don't merely like clothes, I love them; they're old friends to which memories are attached. I ought to frame them and start a museum, honestly. I still have this favorite t-shirt from 8th grade that I wore every day it was clean, 2-3 times a week. It reminds me of who I was and what it was like to be me, back then. It also reminds me of how small I was, 5'4" and all of 110 lbs. Decent size for a 13 year old who isn't done growing, but less than half my weight nowadays. I can't remember fitting in that body let alone the clothes that went over it. But I remember that t-shirt and how much I loved it. I couldn't tell you what precisely was so appealing about that shirt, perhaps just its ordinariness. It was the only thing that remotely resembled what other kids were wearing to school in 1973 that my mother would let me leave the house in. But that's another story for another day and too much beer.
At any rate, these shoes aren't held together with duct tape, so I guess I can rest easy knowing I'm not just like my father. No sirree, if spring clamps and Elmer's plastic glue don't work, it's straight to the trash bin. I'm livin' large, I'm a wildly extravagant spendthrift, don't stop me now baby!
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