A Scarring Memory From My Childhood:
October 21st, 2009 by The Barefoot Blogger: Laura Kleinbaum
I was invited to my very first wedding at the age of seven, that of a distant cousin whom I had no recollection of meeting but I knew, from the wedding invitation, that he existed. Upon learning of my cousin’s existence and his imminent nuptials, I began dreaming of a beautiful gold dress, with ruffles and taffeta, lace and brocade paired with a tasteful tiara and black patent leather ballet flats. (I was seven, living in New Jersey, and it was the early nineties—there’s no accounting for taste.) I related my pageant-worthy costume choice to my mother, but only got as far as the taffeta before her face fell into an “I feel sort of bad for you, but you’re ridiculous” grimace. “Laura,” she said, somewhat gently, “This is a daytime wedding.” What that had to do with anything, I hadn’t a clue, but the point was that my dress was not appropriate. “You’ll wear a suit.”
She whisked me away from my cartoons the following Saturday morning to shop at Saks for this ill-fated suit. I sat in the back seat, pouting all the way for the loss of my delusions of grandeur, and maybe a little because I wasn’t allowed to sit in the front. We were greeted at Saks, with offensive enthusiasm by Carol, who had gone ahead and picked out a bunch of suits for me. As we walked through the beautiful party dresses in a parade of crushed dreams, I couldn’t help but wonder why anyone else didn’t find it preposterous that a child would wear a suit. At seven, I looked up at two grown adult women and thought, “You want a child to wear a suit. And I’m the ridiculous one? ” But sure enough I began trying on suits. We finally go to one that had a nice top (a cream vest lined with black satin) but I was wearing pants with it and worked up the nerve to put my foot down. “I saw a skirt out there that goes with this. Can I please wear the skirt?” My mother agreed and I handed her the pants.
“Carol,” she called. “Would you mind bringing the skirt for this top?”
“And which top is that?” Carol called back.
“Oh, come in and see it,” my mother answered without a second’s hesitation.”
“What? Mom, no!” I pleaded. I was in my underwear. Carol was not allowed to see my underwear. First these women were robbing me of a beautiful party dress and now my dignity? Absolutely not! But in Carol came. I stood there awkwardly feeling my face getting hot and trying desperately to pull the vest down to cover myself—in vain. Carol acted like the sight of my underwear wasn’t no thing, but the damage had been done. I got that “my throat is hurting because I’m trying not to cry” feeling. My mother paid for the suit and a sensible headband and off we went to Stride Rite.
I still had hope for the black patent leather ballet flats, which I fondly referred to as ‘big-girl shoes.’ (My favorite shoe to this day is the black patent ballet flat.) I made my wish known to my mother, who agreed, assuring me they would definitely have those. I spotted them the second we walked into the store. Perfect. I sat on the bench shaken by the panties incident, but thankful that at least I wasn’t afraid of the metal foot measurer. The salesgirl came over, measured, looked down at my dream shoe, then up at my mother. “She has a very broad foot,” she stated. “These aren’t going to work, but those will.” She pointed to a Mary Jane. My heart sank. “But what about another size?” I asked. “What about something you have in the back?” I was grasping. “PLEASE!”
I couldn’t believe it. My last chance for some semblance of elegance and they were sticking my stupid broad foot in a Mary Jane? A Mary Jane is the opposite of a big-girl shoe! It’s a little-girl shoe! “Sorry,” the salesgirl said—still no sympathy, and in fact, maybe a taking some sick pleasure in all of this. “These are all we have.” My mother agreed and she bought the Mary Janes. I was so depressed I didn’t even want to stop at Mrs. Fields. I hated the mall, I hated my life, and I hated my fat fat fatty fat foot.
This feeling, being denied the shoe you want because of the size of your foot: avoid it. Shop Barefoot Tess.
Now, you know I want your traumatizing childhood stories. Let’s hear ‘em. And mind the contest!
- 9 Comments »
- Posted in Shoe of the Moment, This Girl's Life, Trendspotting
October 21st, 2009 at 2:42 pm
So, you know when you’re little & you say something cheeky.. and your mom, ever so sternly, puts her hands on her hips & threatens to make you wash your mouth out with soap? Well, one unfortunate afternoon, my oh-so-proper British grand-mama was visiting our humble abode in Virginia. Granny Annette, ever the manner perfectionist, slapped my wrist when I reached far across the table to grab the butter. I, ever the obstreperous little tyke, instantly stuck my tongue out with her. Bad move, Olivia. Granny yanked me from the table, dragged me into the bathroom, and LITERALLY made me wash my mouth out with soap. And it wasn’t even the fancy-shmancy, potentially decent tasting hand soap. It was liquid soap. From Food Lion.
October 21st, 2009 at 4:21 pm
I was 12 years old and needed shoes for a special occasion. I wore size 11AA at the time (late 1970s). A ‘good’ shopping experience was when my mom and I were simply told no, that they did not carry shoes in my size. It was surprisingly common to be laughed at (seriosly), and I even had one saleman suggest I go barefoot and claim to be wearing lucite shoes (quite the rage then). Then of course there are the jokes about wearing shoe boxes… I was only twelve, people were so rude.
October 21st, 2009 at 5:06 pm
I remember when I was a child,about 8 years old and the first time I was in a wedding ,I was the flower girl. Getting dressed up ,I loved my dress and the so special gold basket and gold shoes. I felt so special. I was feeling special until everyone left the church and left me there. My Mom thought I was with the wedding party and the wedding party thought I was with my Mom . I waited and waited until someone looked for me because they were taking pictures. I thought I was the star!!
I love the ballet flats and always have . I love when a bow is added like the Maloles ‘Zoe Lux Hair’ Flat in Navy. I love this flat! You have the best styles!
October 21st, 2009 at 10:53 pm
I have the same shoe story. I took a size 10 in 1972 and had to go to a factory to get my ugly shoes. They looked like old Russian pesant woman shoes 37 years later the hurt is still there.
October 22nd, 2009 at 8:56 am
I have a very embarrassing childhood story. When I was 14, I couldn’t stop thinking about girls and their Keds sneakers. (I was a guy, and going to high school). It was 1991, and all the girls wore Keds. I wanted to be a girl, and knew that if I expressed my identity, it could be hurt, by family or other kids. So, one summer, I saw an advertisement in the back of a House Beautiful magazine, of my mother’s, for Keds. They came in a size 12! I thought ‘Oh my gosh, I bet those will fit me.’ I was absolutely terrified, but I cut the advertisement out of the magazine, being careful to razor the entire page, so no one would notice it missing, and wrote a little letter ‘To Whom It May Concern,’ and included a check for payment.
I ordered four pairs of Keds sneakers. One black, one navy blue, and two white. I timed it so my mom and step-father would be on vacation when it arrived.
So, my mom and step-father were leaving to go to Maine, and I was shaking with anticipation. I thought ‘Ok, just a few more seconds and they’ll be out the door.’ Then…
‘Oh Matt, you have a package down here.’ – Terror
‘Oh Ok!’ I shouted back, ‘I’ll get it later.’
‘Oh we’re putting it on the steps.’
‘Oh ok!’ I said.
I ran downstairs and grabbed the package as my parents were leaving, and prayed that they wouldn’t say anything. It was from the Tog Shop, which I think was a women’s clothing store. I was absolutely terrified.
They left for Maine, and I never heard a word.
My mom later said she knew, that I crossdressed, but never really said anything.
When I got the shoes upstairs, to my room, I put the box in the closet, and I could feel feelings that were very powerful, that I did not fully understand. During the next three years, I crossdressed whenever I had time, and practically worshipped my shoes. I kept them in a locked chest, in my closet, and only took them out when no one was home, or when everyone was in bed.
I had the greatest time of my life, during high school. I had great friends, good grades, was interested in music, and at night, I crossdressed. My favorite shoes are still Keds, and I have over 14 different pairs.
I always wished, then, that I could do something so simple as go into a shoe store and try on women’s shoes. I wanted to freeze time, so I would be able to shop, and be a girl, and no one would know. It was traumatizing.
I came out in May of 2006, and have had an enormous amount of love and support from my apartment building and town I live in. I came out to my parents near the end of 2007, so I was unable to really express it to them until I had had alot of positive experiences under my belt.
I’ve been shopping at Barefoot Tess since 2008, and thoroughly love the shoes that I’ve gotten.
Anyway, I hope this story is ok, please forgive if it’s not.
Matt
October 22nd, 2009 at 10:08 am
To go with the wedding theme….my mother’s cousin (I think) was getting married. I was somewhere in the range of 5-7 years old. All I really remember from the wedding were that the bridesmaids had very ruffled dresses and carried parasols.
Anyway, when the wedding was over, we all went outside to throw rice at the married couple. When my mom had given me the little packet, I thought it was to eat, so had done so. When it was time to throw my rice, she was asking me where it was and I told her I ate it. She then went on to tell everyone there that I had ate my rice, which took YEARS to no longer hear about it.
October 22nd, 2009 at 11:12 am
So I’ve always been tall, and not just a little taller than my friends, like 99 percentile, off the charts tall… for my whole life. Needless to say my height always made me a bit awkward while growing up, a pretty klutzy too.
When I was 10 my family moved back east and I began ice skating. This was no small feat, at the time I had to special order ice skates to fit my already large size 11 feet. My mother, who is encouraging to a hilt, would watch my ice skating lessons and tell me that I had “found my calling.” This pleased me to no and and at home I watched Nancy Kerrigan in every competition she ever did. Nancy Kerrigan was tall I told myself, I can be just like her! (Never mind the fact that at 13 I was already nearing 5’7” which was Nancy’s adult height.)
During ice skating classes I struggled to do waltz jumps while other girls I knew leaped into axles and sow-cows. After breaking my wrist while badly landing a jump and later coming in dead last in a few competitions my coach, (who had been a pro and was significantly shorter than me), pulled me aside after class. “Do you see those girls out there?” She asked me. I looked out at all the small girls flying effortlessly through the air. “Your just too tall for this sport. You’ll never be able to do what they can do because of your height.” I was crushed and embarrassed ! Why was my body betraying me this way? Didn’t it know this was my calling? Did everyone at the rink think that it was crazy that I was trying to ice skate?
A few months later I stopped skating and in that terrible twist of knee crushing fate, so did Nancy. I grew to my adult height of 6’2” which now I know certainly wouldn’t have done me any favors if I had continued my ice skating career. I tried sports that my height was supposed to give me an advantage in. Turns out I was pretty unremarkable at all of it! Finally I’ve accepted that I’m not particularly athletic and I’m pretty sure that’s due to the fact that I’m a klutz and really not all that competitive and not really the fault of my statuesque height. But man, I’d like to go back a give that pip squeak of a coach a talking to for crushing my 13 year old dreams!
October 23rd, 2009 at 11:31 am
When I was 9 years old I had problems with one foot turning inward, so my mom, being the good parent, took me to the “specialty shoe store” (tranlation: ugly old lady shoes)to be fitted for a pair of saddle shoes. Saddle shoes!!! This, when all of my friends had super groovy Earth shoes. I remember riding home on the bus with my best friend, Ruthie, when one of the High School girls noticed my ugly orthopedic saddle shoes and made a loud announcement to the entire bus. “Get a load of her ugly saddle shoes? Does anyone wear those things anymore?” To which, everyone laughed uproariously. Everyone but me, who was now crouched down in my seat, trying hard to be invisible. The utter humiliation of it all!
October 24th, 2009 at 12:06 am
I guess it’s less embarassing when you’re older…but being offered men’s shoes in Asia because the average women’s size is a 7 or 8 is pretty embarassing for me!