Jesse Jackson ... Consider this a 'fist bump'.

Come to think of it, I do not believe that I have ever bought a new pair of shoes to replace a pair that I have worn out. Really worn out. I replace flip flops when they start looking dirty. Or when there's a cuter pair in brown ... or pink. Or sandals when they start looking scuffed. Some of my trendier shoes start to look a little dated before I put them into the donation sack. Some just fall into that category of "WHAT was I thinking?" ... obvious victims of the Buy One Get One scheme (that works SO well on THIS shoe-buying customer.)
I justify the replacement of running shoes because worn running shoes are just baaaaad for everything, or so I read, or so the running shoe salesmen tell me. I don't really think I'm skilled enough to know WHEN to replace them, I just find myself eyeing the new season's colors and decide the pink and copper is MUCH more "fit" looking than my old blue and silver and SURELY my old support systems have sunk to levels worthy of shin splints or fallen arches and I NEED those new sneakers. And, while the old shoes are much less desirable-looking, and the uppers may be worn "thin," they're not worn OUT. They're perfectly perfect for working in the yard or kicking around with the boys. Soles completely intact.
When I used to work in an office, I wore down heel tips that were easily replaced. Skinned heel leather in downtown sidewalk cracks ... easily mended. And my steel-toed boots from my "highway department" days could have been easily resold as "barely worn."
In other words, I have never WORKED a pair of shoes to death.
Last week, as journalists and politicians and TV news junkies mourned Tim Russert and I sat glued to the television watching remembrance after remembrance like I do when any of my "Imaginary Dinner Party" invitees die ... Peter Jennings, David Bloom and Mother Teresa before him (sometimes I don't realize I'd like to have them to dinner til they've died suddenly or not suddenly) ... it was Jesse Jackson who gave me the sound bite I've since taped to my computer screen for daily reflection.
"He died working," Jackson said. "With his shoes on."
With his shoes on ...
When I look at my children's shoes with their paper-thin soles and ripped, filthy uppers, I can see how hard they "work" in a day. Their shoes, which bear the brunt of their pavement-pounding play, are gritty symbols of their spirit and endurance. And when little toes growing longer reach the end of shoes BEFORE the soles are worn out, I'm reminded of how fast little feet and little boys grow.
I've visited with my family recently about keeping relatives who are long gone very much alive in photos and narratives for my children and future generations. We marvel at their struggles ... in particular my great-grandmother, who spent most of her adulthood as a single mother working whichever way to feed and cloth and nurture many children.
Black and white pictures, recently restored, show work-weary faces. Some children wear shoes in the photos and some do not.
A friend shared w/ me last week how her grandmother was made fun of throughout school because her hand-me-down shoes were always too large and she stuffed them with newspaper, making them, and her, look almost clown-like. My father-in-law talks about growing into his older brothers' shoes ... shoes for hoeing cotton and working cows ... but also a special pair he kept shiny for dancing.
Shoes, and having ones shoes ON, just seem to symbolize work. And kicking them off, the opposite.
And I hadn't really thought about that, even as much as I think about shoes, until Jackson's words last week. And I agree.
I want so much for The Ones Big and Short to work willingly and hard. Like their Daddy. And ALLLLL their grandparents. And their uncles. And I refer mostly to the men because, hard as I work both in and behind the scenes, it's often the sweat and the muscle and the "going to the office," that my boys refer to when we talk about work. And that is OK with me. They see me work alongside their dad, and they know how much we value and will reward a job well done. And they know how much their Dad respects the work I do.
And if they will lace up their shoes and pitch in with their whole hearts ... whether in work or play ... and along WHATEVER path they choose, I will ask for nothing ... or little ... more.