Mary-Margaret Patterson - Crocs

By Mary-Margaret Patterson

S2 Press

Bethesda, MD

First Edition

Copyright 2014 by Mary-Margaret Patterson

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

To obtain more copies or make bulk purchases you may also contact the publisher at:

S2 Press

9006 Friars Rd

Bethesda, MD 20187

United States

301-493-4982

s2press.com

First Printing: 2014

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014947214

ISBN 978-0-9770928-5-7

Cover photo by Molly Blythe Teichert

Watermark/frame photo by Lynn Friedman

Shoe photo used for front cover frame

by Donald Townsend

The company of Crocs, Inc. is in no way responsible for or the source of anything in this book and was not involved with the production of this book in any way.

For Emmett and Tucker

and boys just like you half a world away

Table of Contents

My Old Shoes

Ow! Ow! I cried. My Crocs, my wonderful, comfortable rubbery shoes were pushing on my big toes. They were biting me. Stabbing me on the very ends of my biggest toes. How could they?

It felt like I stubbed my toe. But it didnt go away.

Ow! Ow! I said again. I was running. I looked down on the familiar yellow shoes I was so proud of. Noticed the holes on top that let in the cool air on this summer day. Looked at the dried mud on the rippled bottoms that had kept my feet dry, more or less, the last time it rained.

Youre just growing; theyre way too small, Mom said. Youll need a new pair. And so will your brother.

She threw them on a pile of outgrown tennis shoes in the closet along with the hot pink Crocs shoes my brother had worn that day. There were seven pairs of too small tennis shoes in the pile already. The Crocs made nine pairs. I counted them.

The next day Mom bought us clean, new, bigger Crocs. We put them on right away. A bright orange pair for me and a green pair for my brother. I forgot about my yellow ones until I saw Mom tossing them in a shopping bag with the other old shoes.

Where are you going with our shoes? I asked her, spying my yellow Crocs on top.

You cant wear these anymore. Theyre too small, she said. So Im taking them to Gramma to give to the church for kids who need them. OK?

Yeah, I guess so. Who would want these old shoes, I wondered? They were awful dirty anyway. And smelly. One of the tennis shoes had an entire hole where my brothers big toe went all the way through. I had seen Mom throw some like them in the trash with banana peels and egg shells, and more stinky things. Well, thats the last Ill hear of my yellow Crocs, I thought. I said a silent, sad good-bye to them. They had been good Crocs.

Gramma and Her Washer

At her house, Gramma dumped all the shoes into her washing machine with lots of soap and hot water. Then she laid them out in the sun to dry. They were still old, but they didnt smell anymore. The yellow Crocs came out nice and bright.

They looked almost new. But Gramma told me later she had to throw away the pair of tennis shoes with the hole completely out the front of the shoe. Nobody could wear that shoe. Even a very poor kid wouldnt want that one, I guess.

When the other shoes were all dry, she tied each pair together with strong string. Now there were eight pairs of old, but clean, kids shoes. She dropped them off at the church on a mound of other used kid shoes.

Well, thats the last well hear of those, she thought and dusted off her hands.

*

The yellow Crocs got practically covered up when some other folks added more old shoes to the pile. It got a lot darker around the Crocs. Then came a day when they were squashed into a very small space in a big old suitcase with plaid sides. It got zipped up tight. There was no cool air coming in the air holes then. The yellow Crocs could hardly breathe at all. It was pitch black. So they went to sleep with all the other shoes.

The Longest Journey

Across the wide ocean to the East and across the worlds biggest, hottest, driest desert where it never rains and across a jungle where it rains all the time. And over some mountains with snow on top and across a huge lake. Then down in a farm town in Africa, another boy sits by the side of a dusty red dirt road.

The boy is seven years old. Most days he goes to school. Its a long walk. It takes about an hour, but he doesnt mind that. There are other kids to walk with. It can be fun. Sometimes they sing a little. Or kick a stone along the way before them.

Other times they look up and see a tiny silver airplane sweep across the sky. Going some place. Maybe some place really big like a city with people everywhere. Certainly not Shikokho, his village in Kenya where fewer than 3,000 people live.

When it rains in the village, things are different. It can rain really hard. Sometimes rain comes for day and days. Then, Tumaini, for that is his name, doesnt go to school. The mud is too deep and slippery on the red dirt roads. He might skid to his knees and get his school clothes plastered with mud. Granny didnt like that; then she had to wash his clothes again in the river and beat them on stones to get them clean and lay them out later to dry in the sun.

On a rainy walk to school, Tumaini might step on a sharp stick he cant see in the goo. Or scrape his foot on a rough rock until it bleeds. (That happened more than once.) Or squish a worm. Or get bitten on his toe by a spider or--shudder--even a snake hiding in the mud--just a very little snake. For Tumaini has no shoes.

A lot of the other children cant go to school when it rains either. About half the kids in the village school dont have shoes. If you have flip flops, sometimes you can go in the rain, if the roads arent too bad. But it sure slows you down, Tumaini thought. He complained to his Granny that he had no shoes.

I was angry because I had no shoes, his Granny replied, in her best story-telling voice. Then I saw a man who had NO FEET! She went back to hoeing their corn in her big brown bare feet.

After that, Tumaini didnt say anything to her about shoes anymore.