Shoes

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Shoes in my family describe our personalities impeccably, as clashing as they are. My mother's shoes are like the heels smashing the wooden floor as they pass by above. Ready for a dressy weekend out or a casual weekday in. They are what I hear when she leaves, and when the dogs rush to the open door when she gets home. Her stylish taste is the caring affectionate woman she is, desiring the newest style. My father’s shoes are the boxes that show up regularly on the crowded porch that were on sale from his favorite store. Or the old rugged boots passed down from his father, American leather, worn in, and his favorite pair. My father is by no means a shoe guy, but is a hard working, tough love sort of person that puts his family’s wants over his own.

My brother’s shoes are like a tough day on the basketball court. No days off and claiming that the the newest model is a necessity. Keeping every shoe box piled high like skyscrapers towering along his bedroom walls. Along with mounds of decommissioned shoes, that appear injured and tired as their basketball lives are over. He displays a tough, hardworking, and driven personality just like my father. My shoes come built to last, I buy one pair a year, wear them everyday and put tons of adventurous miles on them until they can’t be worn. They have seen the top of The Rockies, Rainforests in Costa Rica, and Deserts in Baja. I would consider myself as adventurous, driven, and active. Shoes may describe our personalities, but our shoes are not the same, and neither are our personalities, and that’s why our family works so well.






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