by Amber Gaye

Created on: March 10, 2009

I look back on my childhood with a mixture of emotions. On one hand, I sense how magical that time was, all my memories are painted with the lovely golden hue of sepia film. My memories dance with the wanton joy of childhood freedom.

Then, there is the well journeyed sophisticate part of my mind that cringes with those memories. For, when I reminisce, I realize that I was one of those horribly

untamable children, a true example of hillbilly spawn. I would spend my days clad in nothing more than a diaper, and as I grew my mother was hard pressed to make me wear much else.

I don't recall very many times when as a child, I wore shoes. I much preferred to feel the grass tickle my toes. I reveled in stomping barefoot through mud puddles and puddles of mud alike. I can even remember once, when playing a game of tag in the back yard, I suddenly stepped on a bee with my bare foot. I yelped, lifted my foot, and plucked the unfortunate bee from the sole of my foot, then promptly began running again. Apart from snow, nothing could get me to wear shoes, not prickers, not bees, not gravel. Nothing that is, except school.

As my fifth birthday approached so did the talk of kindergarten. I heard my Mother and Grandparents discussing this strange place, and talking about what would be needed for me to go. I didn't mind so much, I had been helping my Grandparents in their garden for as long as I could remember, and a garden for kids like me might be fun. What I couldn't understand however, is why I would be required to not only wear shoes in the garden, but would have to tie them myself!

Despite my assuring her that I could go into the garden barefoot, my Mother insisted that I start wearing tennis shoes and learn to tie them. I don't remember it all clearly, but what I do remember consisted of plenty of kicking, running and hiding, and more than a few instances of my Grandmother ordering me to "Go cut a switch."

Nothing either my Mother or Grandmother could do made any difference. I was a heathen, and I believe I was very proud of it.

Then, my Grandfather stepped into the picture, and everything changed. My Grandfather was, and remains to this day, my hero. I always tried my hardest to please him; I feared nothing apart from disappointing him. Because I was born out of wedlock, to a father who wanted nothing to do with me, my Grandfather loved me all the more. He showered me with love and attention; more than likely he was the culprit behind my wild ways! No one else could control me, he at least, was able to get me to act human.

Thus, my shoe tyeing lessons began. My Grandfather used a story about bunnies to attempt to teach me to tie my shoes. We would spend hours sitting on the dandelion strewn ground going over the story and its corresponding movements over and over again. I still remember his soft voice saying, "Two ears make two bunnies. One bunny runs around the other as he says,
'Loop-de-loop' and goes down the bunny hole."

After countless hours spread over countless days, I was finally able to tie my own shoes. However, being left-handed, my bows didn't look like my Grandfather's. He would laugh and tell me that I tie my shoes backwards; my bunny must be confused.

I have never given up on trying to tie my shoes the exact same way my Grandfather did, somehow though, I can never manage it. In fact, just a few weeks ago, my Grandfather pointed down at my shoes and laughed as he said, "Look! Your bows are still backward!" So, I guess in a way, after thirty-one years, I'm still learning to tie my shoes.

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