Light-Up Shoes

Stephanie called last night and asked if I wanted to take the twins shoe shopping this morning. Tab worked out the details with her on the phone and reminded her to be on time.

"Why are you picking on me?" she asked.

"Mom, I'm not picking on you, but you're always late for things. You know you have a problem with showing up on time."

She had no reply to that incontrovertible fact.

She arrived promptly at 11 this morning. Between Tab's reminder and the argument she and I had over her lateness a few weeks ago, she was probably afraid to be late. When she arrived, I was on the phone with a Bell Atlantic supervisor yet again. For the third time in a month, the access number for my Internet Service Provider does not work. Once I had that problem straightened out, Stephanie, the twins, and I left for the shoe store.

There are two hard-and-fast rules we must follow when buying shoes for the boys: 1) We have to buy them at Carella's in Hamilton, and 2) We have to use one particular salesman, Fred. Even if Fred is busy with another customer and there are two other salesmen standing idle, Stephanie insists we wait for Fred. In her opinion, no one is as good as Fred when it comes to measuring children's feet. Since she's the one buying the shoes, I just smile and go along with her conditions. Hey, kids' shoes are expensive, at least $35 for a pair of sneakers they will outgrow in four or five months. I'm thrilled that she wants to buy them for the boys.

"Mr. Fred, Mr. Fred," Matthew called out when he saw our salesman. "We saw you on TV!" Recently the twins and I happened to catch a TV ad for Carella's shoe store on one of the cable channels, and I had pointed out Mr. Fred to them. They were excited to see someone they recognized on a commercial.

"This can't be Matthew," Fred said to us in mock surprise. "Is this the same Matthew who used to hide from me?"

"He's a lot more outgoing these days," I told Fred.

Fred measured the boys' feet; surprisingly, Stephen's feet have not grown at all and Matthew's have grown only a half an inch, making his shoe size the same as Stephen's. They are both in size 9s, now.

"Do you want velcro fastenings again?" Fred asked, looking at the beatup old sneakers the boys were wearing.

"Definitely," I said.

"I hate velcro," Stephanie said. "It picks up all kinds of stuff and guess who ends up cleaning it?" She sighed a martyr's sigh.

"Well, guess who ends up tying and retying shoes all day long if they don't get the velcro ones," I said. Velcro closures until the boys are old enough to tie their own sneakers is my only non-negotiable requirement.

"Velcro," I said firmly.

Fred disappeared into the back storage area. While we waited, the twins amused themselves by taking turns sliding down the sloped stool that the shoe salesmen use. Fred emerged with four boxes.

"We have four pairs in this size with the velcro closures, two that light up and two regular ones," he said, cunningly opening the two boxes of light-up shoes first.

"I want lights! I want lights!" Stephen and Matthew both cried.

Both pairs of sneakers fit the boys well. Stephen's lit up with little red and green lights on the side when he walked, while Matthew's lit up in red only but on the heel as well as the side. They boys were captivated by their flashy new footwear.

"What do you think?" Stephanie asked me.

"Well, I remember Daniel had a pair like this when he was the same age. I guess every kid should have one pair of light-up shoes. But this it, guys," I said, turning to them. "After this we're back to plain old sneakers."

They were busy admiring themselves in the floor-level mirrors, stamping their feet on the carpet to activate the lights. I don't think they heard me or would have cared if they did. The great thing about being four years old is that you live so completely in the present. And for them at this moment, the present is a brand new pair of sneakers that light up.

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