Buy Daddy Sneakers for Christmas
I bought some new sneakers last week. I hate buying sneakers. It’s such a racket. You go to the shoe store and it’s all bright colors and three digit price tags, Brand names and ugly logos. All designed for the man who wants to show off his sneakers in addition to using them for their proper function, or for the recreational athlete who is convinced they will somehow improve their performance with a bunch of bullshit pumps and springs, even though they are not really competing with anyone.
So I generally run my sneakers into the ground before I’ll replace them, because I find the sneaker industry so repugnant. Eventually, though, even a perfectly intact pair will be out in one rainstorm too many, and get that undestroyable stench that marks the pair for immediate retirement unless you want passerby to think you’re a homeless person. This happened to me after a paintball game a couple of weeks ago.
When I do buy a new pair, I don’t have a lot of options. I hate bright colors and whiteness, because then the wearer gets paranoid about anything affecting the pristine, store-bought purity of their new shoes. Some people get downright violent in protection of them; even people who are normally living asanas of serenity.
I normally end up with the plain gray suede sneakers from Payless. Some people give me shit for that, but I don’t care. I got nothin’ to prove to them. Sometimes, though, even Payless doesn’t have anything plain enough, and I’ll go to New Balance. They still cost more than I think a shoe should, but it’s not like I’m unemployed. I can afford $60 once every year or so for some sneakers.
But even the most bland gray sneaker I can find has some store-bought brightness to it. So I took my new pair out into the park today and cut through the trees and over the meadow to intentionally put some grass stains and dirt scuffs on them, so I’m not tempted to treat them special.
I’ve written almost this entire entry while walking in the park, along with a good 750 words of a new story I’m working on. The park is a battery for creativity that I don’t know if i could do without.
Sometimes I lament that I will lose my very private “walk in the park alone” time once little Cassandra comes, but I was thinking today, and even with all I’ve just said, I don’t really believe I will miss it that much. I see fathers playing frisbee with their little daughters, or pushing them in their strollers, and I think that may be even better than walking alone. I’m gonna be like “C’mon Cassie! Let mommy sleep late while we walk in the park!”
It’s like I’m turning into a different person. A parent. Sometimes that scares the crap out of me, and other times I think it’s wonderful.
So Cassie, honey. I know you’re only -7 weeks old (give or take), and probably won’t understand me if I tell this to mommy’s belly, but maybe one day you’ll be browsing Dad’s blog archives and find this.
If so, and if you loved all those times we’re about to spend together in the park, make mommy buy daddy new sneakers for Christmas that year.
I love you.
Cassie and I will always make sure you have a decent pair of sneakers. We can all go to the store together, and then you can teach her the new shoes song.
Converse. No bells or whistles. Plain, simple sneaker. That’s all I have to say.