I’m convinced that my life would have turned out differently had my mother bought me the pair of white patent leather go-go boots I so desperately wanted in the 2nd grade.
I always dreaded “back-to-school” shopping because it meant that summer was almost over and I would have less time to play outside with my best friend Adam, who lived across the street. In addition to my usual sneakers, my mother would insist I needed a new pair of “good” shoes every fall, even though we both knew I would never wear them. It was impossible to run fast or play kickball in shoes with flat leather soles, so they remained in a dark corner of my closet, making appearances only for school photos, holiday parties, and the occasional trip to church.
The sweet-faced salesman who attended us every year would try to cheer me as I sat pouting in his chair, resentful at being pulled away from playing, while my mother would prattle on cheerfully, pretending not to notice her daughter’s surly pout.I’d reluctantly present my foot for his meticulous shoe-fitting,and after much poking and prodding at various angles he would reward me for sitting patiently by winking and saying, “Why don’t you try them out?” which meant I was allowed to run and slide across the polished wooden floor. That was one of the only good things about dress shoes- you could slide in them.
But that year was different because I’d just been told by my mother that I’d be “staying back” in 2nd grade, and I was feeling particularly anxious about going back to school. She said something about there being too many kids in the class, but I wasn’t convinced. I’d heard other kids say that only “dumb kids” stayed back. I thought about how I was always getting in trouble for not sitting still and for shouting out the answer instead of raising my hand and waiting to be called on. Now everyone would think there was something wrong with me.
I was normally an outgoing kid with unshakable confidence, but now I was anxious. Was I going to be a second grader forever? Was there a secret code or password I hadn’t figured out?
Those were my thoughts as I walked stone-faced through the store, looking for the least-worst pair of dress shoes I could find,and wondering if Adam was having fun playing outside without me. That’s when I spotted them- a pair of white patent-leather go-go boots. They were set apart from the other shoes, on their own special display. The Mary Janes, Penny Loafers, and Buster Browns couldn’t begin to compare.
It was love at first sight. I had to have those boots. Instead of being the girl who stayed back, I could be the cool girl who wore go-go boots! I bet girls who wore go-go boots didn’t care what other people thought. I could see my new identity reflected in the shiny white patent leather. The boots would give me thecourage I needed to go back to school.
I was also pretty sure that once people saw me in the boots, I’d get discovered and become a famous movie star. Once I got discovered I probably wouldn’t even have to go to school, but I still wanted the other kids to witness this new version of myself. I decided that was probably why I was staying back. Movie stars probably all stayed back. Being famous probably meant you were misunderstood a lot, and I was just going to have to get used to it. The teachers would understand too, once they saw me in the boots., and they’d realize they’d made a mistake.
I rushed over to my mother, prepared to do some serious begging, but when she saw me in the boots, she laughed nervously and said, “What- so you can climb trees in them? No! They’ll be ruined in a week!”
I promised to never to play in the creek or climb another tree ever again. Climbing trees was for babies. I promised to save up my allowance and pay her back. I promised to stop fighting with my little brother and sister for the rest of my life. I begged and pleaded, and then cried, and then, sniffling and lip quivering, I finally asked if I could at least try them on. I was sure if she could just see me wearing them, she would change her mind, that my fabulousness would be undeniable. “Fine” she said, “You can try them on but that’s it. We’re not buying them.”
I sat in a chair and waited patiently for our salesman to bring them out. When he sat down at the little bench in front of me, I said, “I can do it myself.” I wanted to make it perfectly clear that I could handle the boots. I slid my foot in, and I can still recall the rush of pleasure I got from zipping them up the side. It felt like power and control. I was re-born.
I stood up with only a bit of a wobble and paraded around the store trying to look grown up and preoccupied, not running over to the mirror like a little kid. I pretended to look at some other displays, shaking my long brown hair behind me like I’d seen the older girls do. When I finally went over to the mirror, I really did think I looked different, and I wanted those boots more than anything I’d ever wanted in my life. The boots symbolized something I didn’t fully understand, but I saw them as my ticket to an exciting new life.
I almost always got what I wanted with my mother, which might be another reason this “no” felt so devastating, but for some reason I could not get her to budge, and we left the store without the boots. I was crushed.
I’m still not sure why she didn’t buy them, but I felt like shewas saying “you can’t be a fabulous movie star, you’re just a regular girl”. I thought it meant she didn’t want me to shine, that I didn’t have her permission to be a star. I thought she was saying she wanted me to be like her, a down-to-earth hippy-chick who only wore blue jeans and t-shirts, not someone who parades around in go-go boots, looking all sparkly and drawing attention to themselves.
I spent the rest of the afternoon sitting in the apple tree with Adam. Boot-less and dejected, I was too embarrassed to tell him that I had been willing to give up everything we had, just for a pair of boots. How could I explain that I’d wanted to become another person entirely? Without the boots, I certainly wasn’t giving up Adam.
I was afraid to think of how Adam would have reacted if he’d seen me wearing the boots. He told me once that he would never be friends with a girl, but that I was different because I wore boys’ sneakers and could beat all the boys in our class at arm wrestling. He said that practically meant I was a boy. Our gym teacher even made the boys arm wrestle me as a punishment if they got into trouble, just to embarrass them.
We had been planning to get married since kindergarten, mostly because we both agreed it was more fun to play outside than inside, and because we both knew it was best to stay away from adults if you wanted to stay out of trouble and not get asked to do chores. Our mothers referred to us as “outside kids”, but we were fine with that. I didn’t want to be an “inside kid”. Inside kids didn’t know how to have fun.
Neither of us saw our fathers much, and we both told each other stories about the secret missions they were on while they were away. We had our best conversations just sitting in trees, relaxing and telling each other lies. I told him I was adopted, and that my father was a ski racer who had to away on secret ski missions all the time, and he told me his father was a famous writer. I wanted to be adopted so badly that I went through my parent’s files when they weren’t home, looking for proof. I was pretty sure my real family were rich and lived in a mansion with a pool in the backyard, and I told Adam that once I found them, they would probably let him come live with us too.
We liked to make elaborate plans for running away from home- going over the lists of supplies we would need and fighting over the perfect place to live. I had seen pictures of palm trees, so I wanted to live in Florida where there were palm trees, and he wanted to live in a cabin in the woods. We found a hacksaw and an ax in his garage and dragged them into the woods behind his house, practicing cutting down trees so we’d know how to build our log cabin when the time came, and I made him promise we would go to Florida as soon as we got rich. I had a feeling my real parents lived in Florida where there were lots of mansions and swimming pools.
We never got a chance to run away though, because at the end of that summer he told me his parents were getting a divorce and his mom was taking the kids and moving upstate. He said he was pretty sure they were getting a divorce because his dad was Puerto Rican, and his mom was Italian, because they always argued about whether Italian’s or Puerto Rican’s were better. I asked which he was, and he said he wasn’t sure., so I told him,“I bet you are whichever one is better.”
After they moved, we went to visit them once because our moms were friends. We climbed on a big rock pile that was left behind by builders of his new development and we played king-of-the-mountain with a bunch of kids from his new neighborhood. The idea was to scramble to the top of the rock pile so you could be king, and whoever reached the top first pushed the other kids back down the rock pile when they tried to take over. It was weird, being in his new neighborhood, and playing different games by different rules- but I liked knowing where Adam was. When my mom called me and said it was time for us to go home, he kissed me awkwardly behind my mom’s car and we promised we would find each other somehow when we got older.
Over the years I would occasionally tell the story of the go-go boots, and joke to a friend in mock horror, “If only my mother had bought me those go-go boots! My whole life would have turned out differently- meaning of course, that fame, fortune, and the perfect life would have been mine. Which is why it was such a complete shock to get an email from my mother the other day that said,
”Remember those white go-go boots I got you when you were little? I was thinking about them the other day. I remember such silly things in my old age!”
It was bizarre to me that forty-years later she would write to me about those boots- I couldn’t believe she even remembered them. I immediately shot her back an email saying that, while I found it hysterical that she remembered the boots, she had certainly never purchased them for me!
But she was adamant that she had gotten me the boots and started going through old photograph albums looking for proof.
I knew for a fact that she hadn’t bought them, but something felt strange about her remembering the boots as well. And howweird is it that she just happened to remember them at the exact same time I was writing this story? Life is straight-up magic sometimes.
After going through every single photo album, she wrote back.
“If you had those boots, I’m sure there would be a photo of you in them somewhere...but nothing.”
Then I got this email.
“Now that I am thinking about it….
You wanted those go-go boots more than anything. I remember being hounded about those go-go boots- big time. It was a big issue. As I remember the story, I bought them for you. But I have to say- we have no picture of you in white go-go boots, although I found a funny picture of you with a black leather purse with very long fringe!
It looks like you are right. The thing of it is….40 years later and we both remember that you wanted those white go-go boots more than anything in the world.
So here is the deal. If I ever see a pair of those boots in your size, no matter how much they cost, I will buy you a beautiful pair of white go-go boots, and you will be the go-go queen to beat all go-go queens.
Love,
Mom
So maybe there’s still hope?
She included a photo of the black leather pocketbook with long fringe. From the miserable look on my face, I’d say I was deeply skeptical that I would ever be progressing beyond the second grade.