I have worn many shoes in my lifetime… The worn, dusty sandals of a child, sitting quietly on my Grandma’s porch as I watched her plant a peach tree and sing church songs in the front yard of her small flat. A frayed pair of black-and-white tennis shoes, as I Anxiously waited to be picked up for a game of baseball in the housing projects where I grew up. My shoes were my own, sometimes purchased, but most times hand-me-downs. But my feet were on solid ground. I have worn many shoes in my lifetime… My first pair of jellies, I can remember them so clearly, Powder blue, with glitter sparkles. A preteen now, feeling More like a young lady and less like a child, I loved those shoes. They were so uncomfortable, and yet they were my favorites. I can still picture my first pair of pink high heel shoes, worn to my first dance. I broke the right heel trying to Do the hustle and ended up sitting on the sidelines, While the boy I liked danced with another girl with Two good shoes. My shoe-beyond repair; my spirit-intact. And as I look back on that day, My feet were on solid ground. I have worn many shoes in my lifetime… I recall so clearly the green open toes I wore when I Met the boy, my first love…who stood so tall, and Seemed so sure of himself that I wanted to he in his Presence, even if my presence didn’t have the same impact on him. The borrowed maroon shoes of a future sister-in-law, while I took vows I didn’t understand, because the boy, my first love, and I conceived a son at a time when common sense and wisdom had not yet entered our teenage minds…Afraid, because I had to grow up fast; confused, because the boy, my first love, refused to do the same-and yet my feet were on solid ground. I have worn many shoes in my lifetime… The black flats with the tiny scuff on the left toe, I wore to bury my twenty-two-year-old baby brother…. The snow-white tennis shoes with the purple lining that were on my feet the day I found out the State Department of Corrections would not allow my mother to say good-bye to her son, one last time, before I buried him. The tattered yellow flip-flops that were on my feet the day I saw the boy, my first love, now a man, on television, being sentenced to the death penalty. And in spite of it all, or maybe because of it all… My feet are on solid ground. I have worn many shoes in my lifetime… The dust-covered construction boots I wore as I proudly contributed to the building of my very own Habitat for Humanity home. The white hospital scuffs I wore, after giving birth to my second man-child miracle. The patent leather sandals that adorned my feet when I proudly escorted my eldest son to the airport to visit the college he would attend in the fall. And the fuzzy pink house slippers I wear now, as I lift my hands, my heart and soul to give praise to a higher being, who has made it possible for me to live my moments as a strong African American woman, one moment at a time, one step at a time. Sometimes in shoes, sometimes on bare feet, sometimes on my knees, but…. Thank God, always, On solid ground. Author : Yvonda Johnson Published in Chicken soup for the African American Womans Soul
Posted on: Fri, 13 Sep 2013 05:45:22 +0000
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