The walking shoes remind me of a time in 7th grade.
I'd just returned from being in Scotland for a year with my family. I'd landed back in Sharon, Massachusetts where I'd gone to elementary school and 5th grade. I wore my Scottish gym sneakers, which were canvas and rubber, dingy and round-toed. I'd always been tuned into my own style but was still coming up to speed on the idea that there even was such a thing as Fashion Trends. So, there I was, walking down the hall in my too-short (thanks to a growth spurt) bell bottoms, a long-sleeved body suit, and my sneakers. A girl walked by with a friend of hers and said, "I like your shoes."
Her tone was already expert: it sounded kind, a little sing-song-y, with only the barest hint of sarcasm. Now, I knew from sarcasm. In fact, I enjoyed sitting listening to my dad and his grad student, Matt, trade biting sarcasms. They were expert. This sort I had not yet encountered, and it was so subtle. I looked at the girl in surprise (after all, how could she be referring to these shoes, which even I could see were nothing of any note?), and said, sincerely, "Thanks." Only after we'd passed each other did I hear her comment to her friend, "She believed me."
I don't share this story as yet another example of teen-aged cruelty. Rather, because I responded from a sincere place in myself, even that moment at the end where I realized she was being sarcastic didn't shame me as it would have had I known from the start that this exchange was a charade, a thinly-veiled humiliation. I was able to hang on to what had been for me a moment of connection that I'd responded to; I felt good - not in a righteous way, but in a solid way - because I responded in a way that was open and friendly. And that was how I wanted to be with the people I encountered.
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