I "traded" for these Converse in 1989. I worked with a hip chick named Becky, and she'd been eyeing a black and white, oversized, rayon shirt I wore all the time with leggings. It had the alphabet all over it and she loved it and offered to buy it from me. As tight as money was at that time, I liked her shoes and suggested a trade.
I wore these shoes everywhere for years. All over the University of Cincinnati campus. To Washington, DC. To Memphis, Tennessee. To the park. To raves. Around my first apartment. My Chucks.
And now, I'm going to turn 39 in a few weeks. While I don't think you're ever too old to be cool, I don't wear these near as much as my soon-to-be-niece would wear them. (Plus, you see how silly Madonna looks these days in her leather corset. There truly is a difference between being empowered and...just not looking in the mirror before you leave the house. My opinion...do as you like.)
She'll be 18 in a few months, and she is a great kid. She's sometimes quiet, slightly moody and very artsy. Brooding. I won't say she's the typical teenager, because to me, she is anything but ordinary. Get her talking and you see through the angst and into the soul of someone who is going to be somebody significant to many. Not now...because now, all anyone will see are the flannel shirts, leather corded necklaces, Converse and sketch pads. But later... Later.
So, I put these Converse in the washer tonight, and as you can see, they're drying by the vent. I'll send them in a specially wrapped box with some other treasures I'd have appreciated at that time in my life. Some paint pens. Some stickers. Little vials of fragrance. Girl things that will give her a glimpse into how special she will be, and how special she is now.
Goodbye, Converse. May you continue to make your wearer walk a little taller and feel a little funkier. I'm old enough now that I wear my grooviness inside. (Okay, maybe outside, too, but just now in the form of a little too much rockstar eyeliner.) Cheers...
No comments:
Post a Comment