Sole Defining

"The primary purpose of shoes is to protect your feet and prevent injury," according to one orthopedic web site.

Yeah, right.

Any woman will tell you, shoes are a LOT more than feet protection. They are a statement. They are a badge. You can tell so much about a person from the shoes they wear. Just ask Burberry, Dolce and Gabbana and Converse. People are always trying to find ways to define themselves. Funny thing is, most of the time they are letting someone else define them.

Don't get me wrong, I have felt the magic of slipping on a beautifully designed shoe. All of a sudden I feel like a lady waiting for my coach to arrive and whisk me off to the ball. Gone are the dirty dishes. Forgotten are the love handles. I can be my dream height of 5'7" with those shoes, if only for a night.

See? I'm just a regular girl. Flip-flops by day, Mary Norton in my dreams.

Let me tell you a story of the worth of a few soles.

During the days of the original Keds and high-top sneakers, I was a young girl just beginning to understand how important it was to have the right hair, clothes and shoes to fit in. The world was opening up to me. Shiny, bright advertisements that previously had no hold on me, now seemed so captivating. I began to realize all the things I didn't have and a nagging ache started to settle in my heart.

My dad was in the army. He was completing a residency program at Letterman Army Medical Center in San Francisco. He worked long, hard hours every day and often into the night supporting me, my mom and my 3 siblings.

I don't remember what his shoes looked like when he wasn't wearing combat boots. They were probably comfortable, old sneakers. Definitely NOT anything cool.

Of course, being 10 years old I was fairly oblivious to the sacrifices that my parents made for me and my siblings daily. I remember wanting. Wanting my ears pierced. Wanting a charm necklace with lots of charms. Wanting my own room.

And wanting new, hot pink L.A Gear shoes.

One night, while we were driving home from somewhere, we passed one of the many homeless people living on the streets of downtown San Francisco. My dad stopped and asked the man what he needed.

"Shoes," he said.

My dad took off the shoes from his own feet and handed them over to the stranger.

I don't remember what the stranger said or did. I don't remember a lot of the specifics of that night. After all, it wasn't a huge event. Just a simple, selfless gesture of kindness. But that gesture has influenced me to this day.

I have yet to see a pair of shoes more self defining than those soles handed over that night.

And I don't even remember what they looked like.


*I'm entering this post in Scribbit's monthly Write-Away contest. This month's topic is: Shoes.*