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Guns Don't Kill People, Shoes Do!

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Guns Don’t Kill People! Shoes Do!
I was seven years old when I got my first pair of Nikes. It was my birthday and for some reason I only had one birthday present. I knew inside that it must be great though. I tore the paper open and a Nike swoosh symbol caught my eye. I opened the box and in front of me laid the only pair of Nike air’s I had ever seen in our neighborhood. I felt like the coolest kid to exist. I pointed to the air bubble as I put them on, I told my mom,
“Momma, this air bubble right here, it’s gonna make me fly.”
My mom just laughed. I knew that’s these shoes weren’t as cool in her eyes as they were in mine. Every step I took as I walked to the basketball court, I felt power.
I bounced the ball a couple times and ran towards the net without the ball. It felt like I jumped twice as tall as my height and my fingers smoothly ran across the net.
After I ran home I sprinted to the phone barely hanging on its wire attached to the wall. I dialed my friend’s number. My hands were shaking for the excitement to tell him about my new shoes! Halfway to the third ring Carlos picked up the phone.
“Hey Matt!” he yelled.
“Hey Carlos! Do you want to go shoot some hoops? I got Nike Airs!”
“What!? That’s so cool! I’ll ask my brother if he’ll take us over right now!” He said in excitement.
I heard the phone bang on the ground as footsteps ran away. The phone was silent for what felt like a lifetime. I heard the foot-STOMPS come back to the phone and Carlos picked the phone back up.
“My brother and I will pick you up in five minutes! See you then!” He hung up.
It sounded as if Carlos was more excited than I was about my new shoes, but I can understand. Where I live, we can’t really afford much. Carlos’s brother had Adidas but you were only really cool if you could afford Nikes. It’s not that my family can afford them, it’s just that it was my birthday and my mom wanted to do something very special for me, and special they were.
I heard a loud thud on the door as I assumed it was Carlos. I thought, “That was quick!” I opened the door and saw Carlos standing there anxiously.
“I’m leaving, Mom!” I yelled as loud as I could.
“Don’t be out too late!” She replied back.
I jumped into Carlos’s brother’s car as both Carlos and his brother looked straight at my feet. I knew they were jealous not saying much.
We pulled up to the court and Carlos took out his 1993 NBA Championship ball his mom had bought him last year. As happy as I was to be playing with my best friends with the coolest shoes on the block, I felt fear. I looked around after making two lay-ups. Something told me to take the shoes off so I did. As I was covering my shoes with my jacket, I heard a gunshot that sounded as If it were 20 feet away from me. I turned around and Carlos’s brother fell to the ground. The gunman sprinted over to Carlos’s brother’s body and yanked his Adidas off his feet. Carlos looked at me and began to cry.
“He’s dead!”
I realized I could have been the one to have been shot. And I looked at my covered up Nikes with tears running down my face and saw that shoes were dangerous and could make me more in danger than happy.




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