My intention was clear: it was either me or those rotten shoes!
So, I snuck into his bedroom at 5am, determined to execute my top secret mission. Yes, of course, you guessed it. He woke up at that very moment. I mean, which secret mission is without that drama?
“Morning boy” I said, quickly shoving the shoes down the front of my onesie (hoping they land somewhere decent).
I could not live a day longer with those damn worn sneakers! Actually, “worn” is too kind a word. The things were finished! Both big toes had pushed through the front, the rubber on the bottom sole was thinner than rice paper and the shoe fabric had faded from a bright red to salmon pink.
My son and his favourite shoes were causing me and my ego irreparable damage and I had to do something.
Yes, he did cry.
Yes, “we” searched “everywhere” for the shoes.
Yes, he was devastated.
Yes, I consoled him.
And, yes, I will surely have to pay for his therapy one day.
But, here’s the thing: I also taught the kid an important LIFE LESSON and I’m not talking “bad things happen to good people”. Not even “some people don’t have even have shoes”.
I was thinking more along the lines of the Serenity Prayer.
I reckon he’ll thank me later. For now, I am praying that the WISDOM thing is swift.
© Aluta continua, as they say. A Heart Full of Stories, 2017
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