Everyone in my family has different shoes. My dad’s shoes are average, nothing special, like a napkin just plain with no characteristics. PJ has shoes that are flexible like a rubber band. My shoes are like a dirty t-shirt. Never clean, laundry that is waiting to be washed. Will has red shoes, the color you think of when you think about the fire department.

But my mom has many shoes all special in their own ways. Some are difficult, others are cheap. Some have lots of hard work. Her favorite are soft like fur on the inside yet rough as sandpaper on the outside. They are made of leather. They are made of rubber. They look like cowboy boots, like old boots. They are old and wrinkled on the outside, yet they have remarkable comfort on the inside. You know she is home when you hear the click clack on the floor above. The looks, the texture, and the sound of mom’s shoes like a horse in the house.