Love Is Where You Find It

There are some things only a mom can understand

This small incident, which occurred almost 80 years ago, is one of my fondest memories. I was 13 and my maternal grandparents were visiting. My three siblings had left for school and I remained to help Mom clear the breakfast table. My school bag was packed and my only task was to put on my shoes and head out for school.

My shoes were foremost on my mind. A week earlier,

Dad had returned from work, bringing a pair of dark-brown penny loafers. A workmate had purchased them for his daughter, but after wearing them for several months, they caused blisters, so he had brought them to work in hopes they could be of use to someone else. Dad set them on the floor and I slowly eased my feet into the soft leather. They were a perfect fit and I walked around the house never taking my eyes off my “new” shoes. The man had etched his daughter’s initials on the tongue of each of the shoes, and I watched with excitement as Dad carefully removed the old initials with his jackknife and then placed a shiny new penny in each shoe. I was so proud and could only imagine my friends’ reactions when I stepped into the schoolyard.

Just as Mom informed me I would be late for school, my grandma entered the kitchen carrying the ugliest shoes I’d ever seen. They were coal-black with thick soles and square heels, rounded toes and laces. They looked like boots and the words “old-lady shoes” ran through my mind. Turning to me, she announced that the shoes bothered her bunions and she’d be pleased if they fit me. My heart pounded as I sat down and she urged the shoes onto my feet. I tried desperately to curl my toes to prevent a good fit, but they were perfect. When Grandma suggested I wear them to school, my stomach lurched and

I fought back tears. I couldn’t wear them, I just couldn’t! I’d be humiliated, and I immediately envisioned all kinds of mocking comments and sneers from my schoolmates.

Slowly I picked up my school bag and, kissing Mom goodbye, headed out on my painful journey. As I reached the door, Mom quietly spoke my name and handed me a brown paper bag. I was confused because I had seen Mom put my lunch in my school bag, but she gently pushed me out the door. My mind was in a whirl with ideas of how I could get rid of the shoes, but even if I could devise a plan, I would have to go to school in stockings or in bare feet. Now real tears trickled down my face. I reached a park bench and searched my school bag in hopes of finding a tissue. To my surprise, there sat my lunch bag. I opened the other bag Mom had handed me—tucked inside were my penny loafers! I knew I’d be late for school and my punishment would certainly be detention, but nothing could dampen my joy. Who knew love could come in a brown paper bag?