These are my shoes from when I was a baby. I have two other pairs just like them. Well, almost like them. They are a bit bigger than this pair. And, one of the pairs is missing one of their laces. Those other two pairs of shoes were my brothers' from 17 and 14 years before I was born. I keep them all together at the bottom of my sock bin.
I don't remember wearing these shoes. I was too young. They may have been my first pair. I'm not sure. But, look at those laces tied back together. Look at those creases in the leather. Look at the way they seem to say "Phew. I'm tired. We've taken many steps together." We were buddies once too. Even if I don't remember. It's obvious.
I love how little they are. I feel like can almost hear them padding across a floor. I love that they live now with my brothers' old shoes hidden together under my jumble of mismatched socks. They're a symbol of how close I feel to my brothers despite our distance in age and geography and lifestyle. We didn't spend time together as youngsters, but we have traveled together in this form for many years. Their shoes look just as worn as mine from the service they so dutifully provided their feet when they were a similar age.
My mom always told me a good pair of shoes were important. She didn't tell me why she thought they were important, but the way in which she stressed this left me with the impression she really meant it. A good pair of shoes are important. They carry us a long way, over many paths, on many journeys, big and small. They are the silent witnesses to our proud steps and our clumsy blunders. They are our old friends.
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