Some folks nerd out about cars, or purses, or specific vintages of Port. For my husband, it’s quality running shoes. For as long as my kids could walk, he has insisted that they be outfitted in Asics—legitimate, street-ready running shoes.
Most the running in their lives is limited to patio futbol and general backyard tomfoolery. However, subtracting the whining or the exhaustion factor, they could run a 5K at any time, based on footwear alone.
Assuming they keep their laces tied.
I feel like my kids, in their fancy shoes, quite a bit here. I look the part, and occasionally even sound the part, of an integrated person. A year into Spanish school, I have a stronger handle on the routines and the expectations.
But yet. Occasionally, I will be just like my youngest, looking down at an untied shoelace, a fall inevitable.
Just this week alone, I spoke too loud, and didn’t leave the room at an appropriate time. I waited in a crowded room to buy school supplies, and listened to two mothers discuss my accent with each other.
I worry that I am too overbearing or too closed-off to the fellow Americans at my school. I push when I should be still. I stand back when I should speak up.
I tell my youngest that of course he can tie his shoes. As I so often remind him, he has done great things, and will continue to do so. All it takes it time and practice.
One plump finger will twist the lace into a bloom, and catch it. He can do this.
And so can I.