Finding Momentum

I looked at my shoes today: brown loafers, a size too large on my feet. I was walk­ing back from class, when I remem­bered my father and thought about his shoes. They are his; bought years ago but never worn. They are classy, with shiny brown patent leather, cer­tainly the kind of shoes that would make a state­ment at any for­mal event.

My father doesn’t wear these shoes. He wears another pair proudly, a pair of Bass loafers bought from an out­let store. He’s worn them for seven years or so, always proudly show­ing them to us. “See how long I’ve worn them?” he used to brag to us, “They’re so comfortable!”

My mind’s eye takes me to his boy­hood in Tai­wan; he is play­ing in the grassy banks of the Hsin­tien river, dal­ly­ing in the water, swim­ming in its clear, swift cur­rent. He has noth­ing to do all sum­mer but eat water apples and water­melon slices and run along the shores’ sil­ver banks.

He is from a poor fam­ily, but they are happy. At night they sit around the table and talk, smil­ing, laugh­ing about the day’s events. His broth­ers, sis­ters and he are all tanned, their hair shocked from the sun and heat.

Last year, my father told me to take these shiny loafers shoes up to school. “You might need them for spe­cial occa­sions,” he told me. They were a size too big, so I took the insoles off my run­ning shoes and stuck them into these clunky shoes. Then they sat in my apart­ment by the door­way, wait­ing for the few spe­cial occa­sions that I did get to wear them: wed­dings, ban­quets and formals.

As a child, my father wears his shoes until the soles wear out. These shoes have lay upon the river­banks for count­less sum­mer hours–patiently watch­ing as my father, a play­ful boy, swims in the waters. They can­not afford to buy more shoes, but he doesn’t mind. To him, they are just as com­fort­able as the day he received them.

And still, my father wears his shoes until the soles run out. It never crosses his mind to buy a new pair. Despite the insis­tence of my mother to get him a new pair, he stub­bornly wears the same ones. To work, on vaca­tions, in air­planes, on nature hikes, on the ten­nis court and along sun-soaked riverbanks.

I am walk­ing back from class, wear­ing shiny shoes that my father hasn’t worn–yet–when I think about him.