The year is 2002, and as my preschool class sits down on the gigantic circle rug for story time, I look to my right and notice another little girl tying her brand new periwinkle sneakers. I try to listen attentively like all the other children, as Ms. Marilyn tells us a story about Noah’s Ark, but all I can think about is how I wish I could have a pair of shoes like her’s. 

That day, when Mom picked me up from school, I got in the car and I eagerly asked her if we could go on a shopping trip.

“What do you want now?”, she says in a stern voice.

Here I am, standing in the shoe aisle, with choices that seem endless, trying to find a pair of sneakers that fit the style of a 5 year old.

“I like these ones, mom!” I say, as I am holding up a pair of princess shoes that light up.

“That pair doesn’t have shoe laces. You have to learn how to tie your shoes all by yourself like a big girl.” She then holds up a tennis shoe with bright pink laces and a shimmering sock liner and sole.

I don’t know about those ones, I think to myself. Then, that same pair of shoes the other little girl was wearing, caught my eye. So, I instantaneously grab that pair of shoes, but in the color pink so it wouldn’t seem like I had been copying her.  These shoes were absolutely beautiful. The heel and sole were a dashing fuschia color, along with the tongue of the shoe, and the laces were a pastel pink shade.

When me and mom get home after purchasing my new spick and span sneakers, I greet Dad at the door as he is untying his mucky work boots. I enthusiastically tell him about mine and Mom’s recent purchase.
I am sitting on the ground putting my shoes on both of my feet. Dad is in front of me bent down on one knee, ready to demonstrate to me how to tie shoelaces.

“First, you make a loop. Then, you take the other string and wrap it around the tree. Then, you pull the loop through the hole in the tree.”, Dad explains to me.

I watched his hands, impressed with what he had just done. As I pull the two ends of the shoe laces, untying them, I ask him to show me one more time before I attempt such a task, which seemed complex at the time. He ties my right shoe one more time and again I watch him anxiously. I then try and attempt to tie my left foot.

Concentrating, I glance back and forth between both my feet, struggling to remember all the things my Dad had said to me moments earlier.

It’s the next morning; I have my backpack on and I’m ready to go, except my shoelaces are lying over the sides of my bright pink sneakers. I patiently wait for Mom to help me, while she gets the daycare kids ready for the car ride to school. She catches a glimpse of me standing there and she says, “You need to try by yourself first, and if you can’t get it, then I will help you.”

I try one time, and when it easily comes undone after taking a few steps, I frustratedly try again. It still doesn’t turn out right. I turn to mom and wait, standing with one foot in front of the other in the doorway, for her to finish putting the last baby in their car seat. When she notices me standing there, I walk outside and she tells me the same thing Dad did the night before, while tying my shoe.

“First, you make a loop. Then, you take the other string and wrap it around the tree. Then, you pull the loop through the hole in the tree.”, she says in a calm voice.

A few weeks have gone by, and even with much practice and determination, I still have trouble tying my shoes. The stupid tree thing is burned into my mind and memory but it  just can’t seem get the job done.  I would sit down to practice and study those words Mom and Dad had told me, but I could never completely accomplish it on my own. There were many times where I would be so thrilled, thinking I had finally tied my sneakers all by myself, only to find out moments and a few steps later that it was not good enough. 

Just as I am ready to give up on tying my shoes, finally something happens in my favor.

I am sitting on the rug in the doorway. I have practiced about six times. The tears have started to fall and I become so frustrated, I take off both of my, what I used to think were beautiful but now just dishearten me, sneakers. I sit there for a few minutes with my elbows on my knees. 

The door opens and in walks, a day-care parent ready to drop off her children. She notices me sitting there with my tear soaked cheeks, right away. She asks what is wrong and I tell her about what is going on. I tell her about the tree and how I can’t do it. Then, she tells me she had the same problem as a kid. For the first time in weeks, I felt like someone understood my struggle.

She bends down in front of me and asks, “Can I show you a different way? But you have to put your shoes back on and wipe away those tears.”

I use my shirt to get rid of the tear rolling down my face and I quickly put my shoes back on.

She takes ahold of my left foot and says kindly, “I’ll tie this shoe, and you can tie the other.” I nod in agreement.
“You start by making two bunny ears and then you simply tie them together.” she says in an encouraging voice.
I observe as she she does so and then it becomes my turn. I replay what she has done in my mind a few times. Thinking of the bunny ears and how this seemed much easier than wrapping the string around the tree.

I look up with a smile and stare at her admiringly with disbelief. I thank her and we both go about how days. All the frustration that had bothered me previously turned to confidence and excitement. I was now the big girl that had dashing pink sneakers with secure shoelaces.