{"id":75949,"date":"2024-03-04T09:50:53","date_gmt":"2024-03-04T14:50:53","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.timcottonwrites.com\/?p=75949"},"modified":"2024-03-04T09:50:58","modified_gmt":"2024-03-04T14:50:58","slug":"sneakers","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.timcottonwrites.com\/2024\/03\/04\/sneakers\/","title":{"rendered":"SNEAKERS"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

My dad told me a few stories about trudging to school. That’s what dads born before 1945 tended to do. He told me a few times he wore sneakers year-round through the western Maine winters.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He explained he had to wear thicker socks in cold weather. Any kid worth his salt on the baseball diamond had worn holes in the canvas before returning to school in September.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I <\/a>remember cheap sneakers getting decimated within weeks of purchase. You kept wearing them, but I was lucky because I had boots in the winter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The commonly shared tale about the trip to the schoolhouse being an uphill slog both ways, with snow regularly making an appearance, must have been communicated to most kids born in the sixties. You see it referenced on social media but usually shaded negatively. I believe it was darn good information.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then, we wait for the comments to light up with the favored derogatory catchphrase, “Okay, we’ve heard it before, Boomer.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I don’t scold them; I shake my head, for listening to the stories and keeping them in mind will make you a more well-rounded individual.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I received my history lessons through school textbooks, word of mouth, and perusing twelve-year-old encyclopedias that smelled like the neighbor’s damp basement.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Everyone’s cellar was wet when I grew up, and no one could afford to buy a new set of encyclopedias except the middle school librarian on fat budget years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Dry basements are relatively new to Maine; don’t take a dry basement for granted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I DIDN’T live in any house without a stacked stone foundation and dirt floor until 1999. In the spring, one of my chores was ensuring the actively flowing stream didn’t overrun the arrangement of rocks meant to keep it relatively contained until it exited the opposite side of the house.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Oh, and the mold didn’t kill us. Not yet, anyway. So shut up about that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Whenever I did a research project, the one encyclopedia I was looking for would be missing because smarter kids who were definitely on a path to a college education showed up early and stayed late; they tended to grab the reference books labeled with vowels.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I adapted, being perpetually behind the eight-ball; I had no choice but to select the always-remaining X-Y-Z edition.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I must have written at least two papers on the Xylephone’s influence on music of the seventies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Refer now to Starbuck’s “Moonlight.” It features a delightful xylophone solo about mid-song. It feels right.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I referenced the song and writers correctly in the footnotes, as my sister in high school showed me how to note these things. Remember, there was a time before Google\u2014you had to ask your sister.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Waiting until the night before the due date was my mantra\u2014and it still is.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There’s a story for your kids: show up early so you don’t end up like that Cotton kid.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As shared, the stories, all with a different twist, were told to teach us resilience and self-confidence and to get us to shut up when we complained that our brother used the last of the Tang or had been in the bathroom too long.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You might have to look up Tang, but it’s easy. You have Google.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The stories about darker times are good to recall because similar times will sooner or later revisit us. Don’t ignore the harbingers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Why did I think about my dad’s ripped sneakers trudging through western Maine snow? Good question.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was loading my truck to head to the dump the other morning. Snow that fell overnight melted in the unseasonably warm spring sunshine (a blessing).<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I opened my tailgate, about a gallon of water from the tonneau cover cascaded directly onto the top of my sneakers. They happen to be waterproof.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I purchased my first waterproof sneakers when I had enough of frequent morning dew soaking through my aging, breathable sneakers. The modern-day textiles facilitated my socks getting soaked within the two steps walking across my lawn. I got sick of it, looked these up, and ordered them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

First-world problems, for sure.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I looked down at my sneakers, shedding water like the back of a frog, and I thought about my dad’s cold feet. He wasn’t complaining about it, mind you. Dad merely told me those things to enlighten me, causing me to reconsider that things can be worse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I went all day with dry feet. But I had a heads-up about it. I listened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We all should.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That’s all I’ve got besides warm, dry feet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

From the Jagged Edge of America, I remain,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

*TC<\/p>\n\n\n\n

*Proud Boomer<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thanks for all you support for the writing in recent weeks. The website should be running smoother, soon. For my BuyMeACoffee Supporters, you are the water that keeps the boat floating. Thanks to all of you. TC <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

My dad told me a few stories about trudging to school. That’s what dads born before 1945 tended to do. He told me a few times he wore sneakers year-round through the western Maine winters. He explained he had to wear thicker socks in cold weather. Any kid worth his salt on the baseball diamond…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"pgc_meta":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[17,19,1],"tags":[45,73,29,51],"class_list":["post-75949","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-blog-posts","category-home-posts","category-uncategorized","tag-maine-life","tag-memories","tag-nostalgia","tag-tim-cotton-books"],"post_mailing_queue_ids":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.timcottonwrites.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/75949","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.timcottonwrites.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.timcottonwrites.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.timcottonwrites.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.timcottonwrites.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=75949"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.timcottonwrites.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/75949\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.timcottonwrites.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=75949"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.timcottonwrites.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=75949"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.timcottonwrites.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=75949"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}