for the love of shoes

We were Christmas shoes, and in her mother's mind, only for holidays, church, and special days. She was only two years old when she went into her closet, took us out of the box, and said, "I want to wear my sparkle shoes."

She was a smart little girl, speaking from the age of one, in nearly full sentences, without any of the baby Einstein shows and toys that her wealthier cousin had enjoyed. She watched "Wonder Pets" on television only once a day, and had enjoyed the human interactions that few children enjoy. Her parents spoke to her and played with her, and made her the center of their lives, and she was doing incredibly well. But that all changed once her father died in an accident 6 months before her second birthday. Her mother made it a point to continue raising her as her husband had wished, so she did not work and rarely spent time away from the little girl, and the little girl had blossomed and became more intelligent, expanding her vocabulary, so it was no surprise when she was able to choose her own clothes and begin dressing herself.

She always picked us. On her second birthday, she had paired us with a silver sparkly tutu and baby blue long-sleeved shirt with snowflakes on it and a pair of white lace tights. Then, the last time she wore us, she paired us with a velvet jumper with ladybugs and ladybug socks.

"I want those shoes?" she asked, unsure that she was saying it correctly.

"Okay, baby, I'll get them down for you. Now hurry, we have to go to the new house and we have to feed Dave before we leave," her mommy said.

"Dave's a good buddy?" she asked about the big fat fluffy orange cat that her dad had adored.

"Yes, Dave is a good buddy. Baby, you're almost too big for these shoes now. We're going to have to give them to your friend baby Shayla, so she can wear them," her mother told her. It was true, the littler girl's feet were getting too big for the little black shoes, and she wouldn't be able to wear them next winter.

The little girl stuck her bottom lip out in a pout, her cheeks turned red, and tears began to form at her eyes. She began screaming, "No, no, no, no, no! Baby Shayla is too little for them! I don't want baby Shayla to have them! They're mine! Mine!"

She cried and cried, and threw herself down on her bed and cried some more. It was good to feel loved. She didn't want to leave us, but her mom thought: "The obsession starts so early."