Feet

I don't know why I thought my feet would keep growing -- after all, I hadn't grown much in recent years. But I'd noted throughout childhood that my foot size increased a little each year and that we bought my shoes a little bigger than that to leave room for growth. And like other early lessons -- right or wrong -- this one stuck.

So, one of the several times during my slow transition from adolescence to some semblance of adulthood that my parents told me I could no longer live with them, my father, as a goodbye and get lost gift, offered to buy me some new shoes -- work boots to be exact. He had recently fallen in love with them and wanted me to share the joy.

Therefore, before I headed into Manhattan to bunk with a (sort of) pal, my good-hearted Dad took me to the Triangle sporting goods shop on Ralph Av. to find us the pair that would give me the kind of comfort and strength he'd come to rely on in leisure time footwear. He asked me if I knew my foot size and I remembered what I'd bought the last time and added a little to allow for the time that had passed and the room that was needed for growth. I think I asked for a 10.

My father, in a gentler mood than normal, more or less calmly asked me if I was certain that was the size I needed. He let me know it was possible to have them measure me so that we could be sure. But, I don't know, I had committed to the size I chose and and I didn't want to look like I didn't know what I was talking about and I was pretty (kinda?) sure it would be alright.

So, we bought the 10s.

Or maybe they were 9 1/2s.

It really doesn't matter because it turned out later that I really wore a 7.

To Be Continued