Shoes Continued

I was always among the shortest and definitely the scrawniest kid in my class while growing up. However, my brother, six years older than me, was probably the tallest kid in his class, and my dad consoled me that he himself had grown several inches his senior year of high school, so I always assumed I’d get taller. This must be why, beginning my freshman year of high school, I started wearing size 10-10.5 shoes. I felt like I needed some room in the toe to grow into.

Unfathomably in retrospect, I was on the basketball team through tenth grade. I was spindly and awkward, and the other kids tormented me with near-daily wedgies (pulling my underwear elastic up over my head), flushies (lifting me upside-down by the ankles and flushing my head in the toilet) and locking me in the tiny lockers. It was a lot of fun, let me tell you. But perhaps the most beguiling part of basketball was that I was the slowest kid on the team except for my closest friend Eric, who ran like a wounded walrus. I could never figure this out, but suspected it had something to do with my shoes.

My family couldn’t afford or weren’t willing to waste money on the fancy Air Jordan’s that the other kids had. While running, I could feel my shoes slipping around. At the time, I blamed it on the traction. I sometimes considered it a blessing that the dry gymnasium air often gave me nosebleeds so that I could lean over a trashcan holding toilet paper to my nose and spitting out clots while the other kids ran.

I have a hard time appreciating or trusting anybody that speaks fondly of high school. When others talk about returning for reunions, my jaw simply drops. The people from my high school are literally the last people I’d ever want to see again in my entire life. I’m the same size as I was back then, and I envision them zipping me into a duffel bag and kicking at me for old time’s sake.

I still can’t afford overpriced shoes. Today, however, I wear size 8-8.5.