08/22/97

"I've Been Malled!"

Children must have invented Chinese water torture. If you have ever gone shopping for sneakers with a 12 year old, you know what I mean.

The old pair has completely self-destructed, but he insists on wearing them to the mall anyway. He has to shuffle when he walks to keep them from falling off.

We are confronted at Foot Fair with a bewildering array of action footwear, each style custom-built for a different sport.

"Where are the frisbee cleats?" I ask the salesman.

"Mooommm," Geoff groans. (He doesn't appreciate what he calls my "lame" humor.)

I turn over shoe after shoe, in search of a pair for less than $50. With a little luck I can find a pair on sale for under $50. My son, meanwhile, zeros in on the $75 specials with the "swoosh" on the sides.

All grown up, he approaches the salesman to ask for a size 10. I, too, request two try-on pairs for him. Eagle-eye notices my choices, of course.

"Mooommm," again. "That one has black soles, which aren't allowed because they leave dark scuff marks on the gym floor. The other one isn't any good either. The soles aren't air cushioned."

"What does the air cushion do?" I wonder.

"It provides more arch support and shock absorption than rubber alone and the "swoosh" shoes have extra strength in the sides, too."

"Geoff, half the time you don't even tie them," I say.

"That's only around home and at school, Mom. I tie them in gym," he counters.

"For two hours a week in gym, I think these other shoes will be fine," I assert logically.

"But, Mom. Look at the shape of the toes on them and the ugly zigzag stripes on the sides. I can't wear those. They look so ... so cheap!"

"Cheap? You call $50 cheap? I used to pay $10 for a pair of sneakers!" I can feel my face getting hot, so I take a deep breath and return to impeccable logic. "We have to buy new school clothes, too, you know. I can't spend everything on shoes." I look up at the salesman, hoping for a nod, but he remains impassive.

"I don't want any new clothes," Geoff insists, digging in his heels. "I'll wear my old stuff."

"It's mostly torn or too small, Geoff."

"I don't care. All my friends wear old stuff. I can, too, so you'll be saving money." I can feel myself weakening. School starts in two days; he has to have shoes; and I do want him to be happy.

"Oh, all right. Just don't you dare start badgering me for those shirts you like with the special insignia on them that cost three times more than any other shirt on the rack. And you have to clean your room when you get home." Pathetic. I hate it when I give in.

"Wow! Thanks, Mom! Thanks a lot!" he says with that huge melt-my-heart smile. "They're awesome! Can I wear them home?"

I do like making him happy. Besides, if he doesn't mind looking a little scruffy on the first day back to school, it shouldn't bother me either.

On Monday morning we're all getting ready for school and work when, from the kitchen, I hear, "Mom, come down here, quick!"

I find him walking back and forth across the linoleum floor in his new "swooshes." Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

"Mom, listen to that. I can't wear these!"

"You can't wear them?" I ask weakly. "Why not?"

"They're so loud! Everybody will look at me! I'm wearing my old ones," he declares.

"But all new shoes squeak like that ... you have to break them in ... I paid $75 for those sneakers," I babble. "... Just two days ago you had to have them ..." A loud groan issues unbidden from my throat as I head back upstairs.

Still within earshot, I hear Geoff ask his sister, "What's the matter with her?"

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