I am older now. Not that my ever-graying hair gives me away, nor the fact that my oldest son, Taylor, just turned 22. No, the telltale sign of my age is that I’ve had a pair of white Adidas for over a month now and they are still brilliant white.
My 13 year old son, Slater, looked at them like some kind of modern day miracle and said, “How do you DO that??!!”
And I new exactly what he meant. When I was in middle school, there were few things cooler than new sparkling white Adidas, Pumas, Nikes, or Cons. (That might only be trumped by having a girlfriend. Or imagine having a girlfriend AND new white shoes!)
And here are the words I did not reply to Slater with:
“Slate, it is easy. First, wear them exclusively to those ‘dirty’ places like the office, church, and the mall. And if it’s raining in the morning, put on your old shoes instead. Then of course turn what were your newest shoes into your official 'play shoes,' which means never playing in your new white shoes.”
And that’s when I new I was old...
And I’m so old I can’t bring myself to make them dirty even in the hopes that it could recapture a speck of my youth. But the truth? (lean in) When I look down at my sparkly whites, that middle school version of myself that’s still inside somewhere thinks, “COOL!!”