No Christmas Shoes for Me, Thanks

When I was a kid, snow was not the enemy. I lived in a time that is almost unrecognizable to many who now live in snow country. It might take a little explaining, but I’ll try and do it quickly.

My elementary school (L. J. Muir, Bountiful, Utah) sat at the base of a long, steep, wonderful grass hill that leveled out into a flat field. In the winter it became the perfect spot to go tubing. We would drag our inner tubes to the school and that is what we would do during recess. (I don’t know if that is still allowed in elementary school, or if recess is even adequate to do something like that anymore.) Even some of our teachers would come out and slide down the hill with us. We developed the ability to get our snow clothes on in mere minutes, to maximize our time on the slopes.

There was also another, less popular, but more adventuresome thing to do on the same hill: Foot-sliding.  For those who aren’t familiar with it, foot-sliding is basically sliding down the hill using your shoes as skis. We would carefully construct a foot-sliding run by making a track for our feet by stomping out grooves in the snow. After sliding down the run a few times, it got more compact, smoother and faster. The easiest way to visualize it is to think of the grooves the ski jumpers line up in during an olympic ski jump – minus the jumping part. I still can’t believe we were allowed to do that at school. (When I told my EC about this, she asked what would happen if we lost control.  “We’d crash and roll down the hill.” was my answer.)

To really foot-slide well you needed to have slippery shoes. Keds would just not do. The only true shoes for foot-sliding were Church Shoes. With their smooth soles, and a good rubbing of paraffin that you snuck out of your mom’s canning supplies, you could scream down the hill as fast as you could handle. Of course, this presented one problem: Wearing church shoes to play in the snow was forbidden by most of our parents, because the wet was hard on leather dress shoes.

This demanded a little subterfuge on my part; I would wear my Keds to school, but sneak my church shoes in my coat. (This was in the day before children were required to schlep a 35lb backpack with them wherever they go.) When recess came, the Keds wound up on the coat rack, and I would hit the slopes.

One December, when I was in either 5th or 6th grade, we had an exceptionally good foot sliding track. Everyday I would sneak my church shoes to school and then set them next to the heat vent in my bedroom at night to dry out. I was oblivious (at an age-appropriate level) to the damage it was doing to my shoes, unit one day when I realized the sole was separating from the leather uppers on both shoes, leaving them to flop open when I walked.

I was a dead man walking. I knew I would need to tell my parents that I ruined my shoes, and they would not be happy because I had been expressly told not to do what I did. I was worried about them getting mad at me, and for having been disobedient.

This fear of parental disapproval and possible punishment was outweighed by a greater fear: I did not want to tell my parents about my shoes out of fear that new shoes would become part of my haul of Christmas presents. I mean, who want shoes for Christmas? Not me.

So I kept my mouth shut and went to work. With a card of brass thumbtacks and some glue, I went about attempting my own version of shoe repair. I applied a good coat old Elmer’s white glue where the leather upper had separated from the sole, and then used the thumbtacks to secure it in place. After drying overnight, I was thrilled to find that my  efforts had worked. No Christmas shoes for me!

I distinctly remember that one of the thumbtacks came loose and turned on me while I was wearing them at church, but, other than that, my plan went off flawlessly.

Here’s where I realize what a stinker I was:  Right after Christmas, I showed my parents my shoes and apologized  profusely for disobeying. The timing was everything – Christmas gift-giving was over! I don’t remember how mad they were, or if I was punished, so the retribution must have been minor – or I’ve blotted out the memory. What I do know is that whatever punishment I may have received was better than getting church shoes for Christmas.

Also, in case you ever need this knowledge: Shoes held together by thumbtacks and Elmer’s glue will not, I repeat not, function well as foot-sliding shoes.