On Loving Students' Mismatched Crocs, Surviving a Summer as a Lifeguard, and Walking a Mile in Someone Else's Shoes
My mom always pinched my toes and made sure I had a little room to grow into my shoes. Crocs are a personal metaphor for me about growing up unique and special, and it turns out, like non-compostable grocery bags and Walmart and other things I said I disliked, have made their comeback in my life. As pragmatism demands I go to the store and by plastic items that contain my groceries, like that grocery bag dangling at my side and bumping into my leg through tough times, they form a wordless memory as dependable as my dog walking beside me. The way Crocs flourished during the pandemic took me back to my early high school days when they first took over the fashion scene of my community, when, I confess, my response was pretty scathing. I remember middle school, when my parents were trying to get me to feel a certain way about Converse and French Horn. When the retro glory of these shoes was rocked by Freaky Friday rockstars, by Avril Lavigne. We watched Hoosiers at home, and in the squeaking glory of a midwestern high school basketball gym, humble converse-clad players ran up and down the court teaching me about how life is long and there is always a time for success. |
AuthorWe are Kieran and Michelle, two 32-year-old William & Mary grads living in Virginia. Archives
March 2024
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