It’s not that I was super materialistic. I just wanted to be cool and trendy, a common characteristic of teens both then and now. Some of our identities (unfortunately) came from the clothes we wore. We could only wear Levy-brand jeans, for example. And there was a certain brand of Navy jacket that was necessary (although I can’t remember the brand). I can only assume that that trend has continued, if not worsened. Thankfully, the anxiety about clothing dissipates with time, as we come to realize that it’s the person inside the clothes (and frankly, the heart inside the person) that matters most. But, that truth gets lost on a barefoot teenager who desperately wants to be cool.
The challenge I faced was the capital it required to sport a pair of these trendy ‘track shoes” that were so popular then. (Some actually wore their real track shoes - minus spikes - to school). And, as the saying goes, money didn’t grow on trees, or at least any tree in my orchard. So, my choices were to either wear Converse-brand shoes (less trendy, but acceptable), to steal a pair of the real things (which I seriously considered) or to buy knock-offs. The latter recourse won out.
So, the shoes that wound up on my feet didn’t come from one of the popular sporting goods stores - whatever those may have been in the ‘70s. My shoes came from a rack at nearby Pine Bluff’s K-Mart store, with the shoe laces tied together. And, though they appeared to be some form of leather, they were actually some form of plastic. I didn’t care, or at least I didn’t think so, because from a casual vantage point, as far as anyone knew, these shoes were the real McCoy.
I hadn’t owned my new plastic track shoes long before an interrogation began. It started in a first period class from a well meaning friend at the time. Unfortunately for me, I hadn’t prepared well for the cross examination.
“Where did you get those?” he asked blandly, staring at my feet. “Get what?” I feigned. “Those shoes - are they new? “Oh, these? I dunno. I don’t remember.” Suddenly, I didn’t like the undue attention I was getting. “But, they look brand new” he continued. Are those Adidas?” Others were now looking in our direction. “No... I mean, I don’t think so. I’m not sure,” I stammered, as I felt heat rising to my face. “What do you mean, you don’t know?” he insisted. “What kind of box did they come in?” My friend was relentless and I hadn’t anticipated the “box” question. “They didn’t come in a box. I mean...I didn’t see the box they came in...they were a gift. My cousin gave them to me.” I was hoping I wouldn’t have to name the cousin, because I couldn’t think of single one at that moment. “So, does your cousin wear Adidas?” “No,” I muttered, mostly to myself. “Now he doesn’t.” My cousins probably wore cowboy boots, I thought to myself, and they sure didn’t give a flip-flop about these goofy-looking plastic track shoes.
Mercifully, the questioning trailed off eventually. It wasn’t meant to be personal. My friend didn’t mean to embarrass me (or himself for that matter) even though he did. I really think it was more that, to my friend, the possibility that my shoes were anything but name-brand - and the reality that not everyone could afford the real thing - was outside his frame of reference. I’m not even sure if he knew that K-Mart existed, let alone imitation Adidas or Pumas, let alone budgets that didn’t always allow name-brand shoes.
So, that whole episode still bugs me. Why? Because I wish I’d been mature enough to have answered differently, more transparently, more matter-of-factly. And, because it gets repeated year after year, sometimes with tragic consequences. Kids have been mugged by their peers over designer sneakers. Sometimes worse happens. It’s serious.
What’s interesting to me is that if that encounter were to happen again today, I’d be rather proud of the fact that I’d bought the items on the cheap. (In fact, I’ve bragged about the deals I’ve found at Target and Wal-Mart, haven’t you?) I suppose I can afford a pair of Adidas, Pumas, Nike or whatever the brand. In fact, I don’t discount the notion that good shoes are important (you only have to ask an Army recruit about the importance of quality footwear). But nowadays I’m more concerned with the roller coaster ride my 401k plan is taking, rather than whether I’m wearing the same shoes as the latest celebrity-of-the-month, or whether I’m fashionable or if I match the latest styles. I only wish I’d been more realistic then.
Besides, it’s not about the shoes you’re wearing; it’s more about the direction your feet are pointing. Funny, but nobody seems concerned about the style of shoes Lindsay Lohan or Mel Gibson is wearing these days.
Keep on truckin’!
-Ken
