July 24: My shoe meditation
If I was a shoe, I guess I'd join a church. After all, I'd be concerned about the welfare of my sole.
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In the mid-70s, there was a Canadian kids show called Readalong, which encouraged young children to start reading. The host of the show was a talking boot, which is sort of like a shoe. A boot is just a tall shoe.
Here is a picture of the talking boot:
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If I was one of my shoes, I would ask to be thrown in the garbage. That's because I'm falling apart. The soles are as smooth as glass and there are so many holes in the top that you can see Shteevie's socks. Unfortunately, shoes will not be purchased anytime soon. There are more important things to buy at the moment.
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Remember that penultimate scene from The Shawshank Redemption, the one where Andy Dufresne uses a rock hammer and a Rita Hayworth poster to escape from prison? Immediately preceding that, there's a scene showing Dufresne's last night in jail. Had anyone looked down at his feet, they would have noticed him wearing new shoes, shoes he'd stolen from the prison's corrupt warden. That was Andy's sayonara to prison life. As his good friend, Red (played by Morgan Freeman) observed, "how often do you look at a man's shoes?"
Well, girls probably do a lot.
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I am a guy. I am happy owning two pairs of shoes. I have my sneakers and I have my black dress shoes for fancy occasions. The fancy shoes are scuffed but I fixed the scuffs with a black Sharpie. That's a lifehack I invented.
Girls are never happy owning two pairs of shoes. I know girls who own more than 200 pairs of shoes. This is a bad thing. No one needs 200 pairs of shoes. The only reason someone would need that many shoes is if they have 400 legs.
On my way to the shoe store
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As a child, I used to love to go shopping for shoes. It was a secret love. What I loved about it was having my feet measured. The salesperson would sit me down and have me take off my old shoes and then they would but this metal contraption on the floor and I would put one of my feet in it. Then they would touch my feet. It was necessary to touch my feet if they wanted to measure it accurately but I loved that touch. I suspect I am not alone in this.
I also love going to the barber shop (or the hairdresser, if I may be so urban) and feeling the clippers on the back of my neck. The purpose of the clippers is to get rid of the tiny little hairs, not to give me a mini massage. But I like the feel of them on my skin, I like the warm, inviting buzz that the clippers make. I suspect most barbers and hairdressers know this about their clients too, though they rarely comment on it.
There was one hairdresser in Calgary who, after a haircut, would run this wooden ball massage thingee over your back for a couple of minutes. It felt good. It didn't really relax you but it was a pleasant tactile sensation and, I think, it kept me coming back.
There used to be a bartender at The Back Alley, a Calgary nightclub, who, when giving you your change, would place the money in your hand and then fold your fingers around it. I was hardly a regular at The Back Alley but I was in there enough for work purposes. Whenever that bartender was there, I would order a Coke from her just so she would touch me. There was nothing sensual in that touch - you'd have to be an idiot to interpret it as a sexual invitation. What it communicated was compassion. The bartender was saying: "I do not find you disgusting. I value your patronage. I am comfortable with you." I went to her not to be admired but to be reassured.
I never looked at her shoes.
And while we are on this tangent, let me explore one of my absolute favourite memories of school:
Grade 1. Storytime. All the kids get out from your desks and come sit at the feet of Mme. Boyer. She's going to read a story. Try to sit in front. You want as many kids behind you as possible.
That's because one of them might start drawing on your back.
They won't use a pen or a pencil or a marker. They'll just use their finger. You, of course, are wearing a T-shirt. That's all you want to wear – nothing but a thin layer of cotton between skin and skin.
And you're listening to the story and suddenly, you feel someone's finger on your back. They're drawing something and you don't care what they're drawing. They could be drawing something totally obscene and you don't care at all. You just love the feel of it. You want that sensation to go on forever. And don't you dare turn around. The person doing it will think you're annoyed and they will never do it again. Ever.
I can't be alone in this. I know I am not alone. When I was 27, I was part of a community theatre group. We put on a play that demanded a cast of about 50, half adults and half children. During rehearsals, the children would sit in a circle and they would draw on each other's backs. I wanted to join them. I'm not a pervert for wanting to join them but I would certainly look like one if I asked to join in. I didn't of course. I had to content myself with a more grownup activity like discussing mutual funds with my fellow thespians, but in my heart, I wanted to join those kids so they could take me back to Grade 1.
-
Memo to my son: Daddy's going to draw on your back a lot whenever you visit. I suspect it will delight you until you're about to enter adolescence.
And I'll always buy you shoes whenever you need them.
-
In the mid-70s, there was a Canadian kids show called Readalong, which encouraged young children to start reading. The host of the show was a talking boot, which is sort of like a shoe. A boot is just a tall shoe.
Here is a picture of the talking boot:
-
If I was one of my shoes, I would ask to be thrown in the garbage. That's because I'm falling apart. The soles are as smooth as glass and there are so many holes in the top that you can see Shteevie's socks. Unfortunately, shoes will not be purchased anytime soon. There are more important things to buy at the moment.
-
Remember that penultimate scene from The Shawshank Redemption, the one where Andy Dufresne uses a rock hammer and a Rita Hayworth poster to escape from prison? Immediately preceding that, there's a scene showing Dufresne's last night in jail. Had anyone looked down at his feet, they would have noticed him wearing new shoes, shoes he'd stolen from the prison's corrupt warden. That was Andy's sayonara to prison life. As his good friend, Red (played by Morgan Freeman) observed, "how often do you look at a man's shoes?"
Well, girls probably do a lot.
-
I am a guy. I am happy owning two pairs of shoes. I have my sneakers and I have my black dress shoes for fancy occasions. The fancy shoes are scuffed but I fixed the scuffs with a black Sharpie. That's a lifehack I invented.
Girls are never happy owning two pairs of shoes. I know girls who own more than 200 pairs of shoes. This is a bad thing. No one needs 200 pairs of shoes. The only reason someone would need that many shoes is if they have 400 legs.
On my way to the shoe store-
As a child, I used to love to go shopping for shoes. It was a secret love. What I loved about it was having my feet measured. The salesperson would sit me down and have me take off my old shoes and then they would but this metal contraption on the floor and I would put one of my feet in it. Then they would touch my feet. It was necessary to touch my feet if they wanted to measure it accurately but I loved that touch. I suspect I am not alone in this.
I also love going to the barber shop (or the hairdresser, if I may be so urban) and feeling the clippers on the back of my neck. The purpose of the clippers is to get rid of the tiny little hairs, not to give me a mini massage. But I like the feel of them on my skin, I like the warm, inviting buzz that the clippers make. I suspect most barbers and hairdressers know this about their clients too, though they rarely comment on it.
There was one hairdresser in Calgary who, after a haircut, would run this wooden ball massage thingee over your back for a couple of minutes. It felt good. It didn't really relax you but it was a pleasant tactile sensation and, I think, it kept me coming back.
There used to be a bartender at The Back Alley, a Calgary nightclub, who, when giving you your change, would place the money in your hand and then fold your fingers around it. I was hardly a regular at The Back Alley but I was in there enough for work purposes. Whenever that bartender was there, I would order a Coke from her just so she would touch me. There was nothing sensual in that touch - you'd have to be an idiot to interpret it as a sexual invitation. What it communicated was compassion. The bartender was saying: "I do not find you disgusting. I value your patronage. I am comfortable with you." I went to her not to be admired but to be reassured.
I never looked at her shoes.
And while we are on this tangent, let me explore one of my absolute favourite memories of school:
Grade 1. Storytime. All the kids get out from your desks and come sit at the feet of Mme. Boyer. She's going to read a story. Try to sit in front. You want as many kids behind you as possible.
That's because one of them might start drawing on your back.
They won't use a pen or a pencil or a marker. They'll just use their finger. You, of course, are wearing a T-shirt. That's all you want to wear – nothing but a thin layer of cotton between skin and skin.
And you're listening to the story and suddenly, you feel someone's finger on your back. They're drawing something and you don't care what they're drawing. They could be drawing something totally obscene and you don't care at all. You just love the feel of it. You want that sensation to go on forever. And don't you dare turn around. The person doing it will think you're annoyed and they will never do it again. Ever.
I can't be alone in this. I know I am not alone. When I was 27, I was part of a community theatre group. We put on a play that demanded a cast of about 50, half adults and half children. During rehearsals, the children would sit in a circle and they would draw on each other's backs. I wanted to join them. I'm not a pervert for wanting to join them but I would certainly look like one if I asked to join in. I didn't of course. I had to content myself with a more grownup activity like discussing mutual funds with my fellow thespians, but in my heart, I wanted to join those kids so they could take me back to Grade 1.
-
Memo to my son: Daddy's going to draw on your back a lot whenever you visit. I suspect it will delight you until you're about to enter adolescence.
And I'll always buy you shoes whenever you need them.
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