My father played the role of Captain Von Trapp when I was growing up, everything but the high-pitched whistle that would summon the troop of children into formation.
He used to line us up, my older brother, Mark, and Joel, the youngest, and he would perform an inspection of us before we would leave the house. Fingernails clipped and clean? Every hair in place? Ties strait? Shoes shined? First the boys went through the drill and then it came to me.
One day, I was in the line wearing a beautiful blue and white gingham dress with big red buttons. My mother had bought me brand new black patent leather Maryjane shoes and I couldn't stop staring at the shine that came off of them. I had ruffled ankle socks that I remember tugging at until they were straight and even before I came downstairs to model my look for Dad. I twirled around (when it was my turn, of course -- never breaking rank) and waited to hear my Daddy say how pretty I looked. I could tell he loved my dress but there was a pause. I remember the pause to this very day, and then, I was only about 3 years old.
He said, "Very nice, but ... red shoes would be better."
I have often said that if I ever wrote an autobiography it would have the title, "Red Shoes Would Be Better." This single phrase has burned a groove into my life, etching an opinion, spoken or otherwise, about every single thing I do. It hits me first thing every morning, of course, as I face my daily mission of finding the perfect outfit and accessories to introduce to my waiting public each day. But subtly, it is the message that filters through everything and aligns the world according to a standard, only to fail on a detail. This "red shoe" epiphany was the commencement of the global "what's-wrong-with-this-picture" game I have played my entire life.
This perfection-driven insanity has created a world of remodeled freaks of nature, sporting new noses and breasts so that one little thing that is a little "off" will just go away. No job is ever really well-done, there is always something that could have, should have, might have, been done better. All this looping, rewinding, editing, and the like has crippled the world I live in. For years, I was afraid to try something new, because grand failure had to be fatal if you could have a crisis over the wrong colored shoes, after all.
The best thing that ever happened to me (eventually) was having children. The harder I tried to duplicate the Perfection Endeavor I knew from my own childhood, the worse I failed. These creatures got dirty, broke things, and even dressed themselves in play clothes that didn't match! When I got too sick to hold together the details of the perfect little life I was striving to achieve, I found that the world did not end. All that fear was wasted energy.
Once, my husband dressed my toddler to meet me and go out one evening and I discovered that Ben had two different color socks on his feet and no emergency change of clothes in the diaper bag, just in case there was a traumatic occurrence of a Stain. No matching socks?! Somehow, Ben did not lose a moment of joy over that and neither did his Dad. Fortunately for me, I married a man who did not have a whistle to blow or even a remote desire to inspect his children this way. He let them be who they are and I joined into the remedial education course he was teaching back then.
My friend Terry and I were in Shoe Wonderland (DSW) some time ago and I persuaded her to try on a delightful selection of shoes. She got a gorgeous pair of bronze Coach platform shoes made of soft, Italian leather. She also, per my directive, purchased a pair of scarlet-red slingback, wood platform 4" heels. Now, when she puts them on, they are her own "ruby slippers" that give her courage when she goes to speak in public.
A few years ago, I received a gift from some friends in lieu of flowers after surgery. The note attached to the gift card gave me express instructions to use it only for the purchase of some fabulous shoes. It was a substantial gift, and I was delirious as I moved through the Nordstrom shoe department trying on dozens of shoes. And then, by the suggestion of a total stranger, I was handed a box with a pair of shoes he had a hunch I would love/love/love! I tried them on, and they were indeed truly wonderful shoes.
He used to line us up, my older brother, Mark, and Joel, the youngest, and he would perform an inspection of us before we would leave the house. Fingernails clipped and clean? Every hair in place? Ties strait? Shoes shined? First the boys went through the drill and then it came to me.
One day, I was in the line wearing a beautiful blue and white gingham dress with big red buttons. My mother had bought me brand new black patent leather Maryjane shoes and I couldn't stop staring at the shine that came off of them. I had ruffled ankle socks that I remember tugging at until they were straight and even before I came downstairs to model my look for Dad. I twirled around (when it was my turn, of course -- never breaking rank) and waited to hear my Daddy say how pretty I looked. I could tell he loved my dress but there was a pause. I remember the pause to this very day, and then, I was only about 3 years old.
He said, "Very nice, but ... red shoes would be better."
I have often said that if I ever wrote an autobiography it would have the title, "Red Shoes Would Be Better." This single phrase has burned a groove into my life, etching an opinion, spoken or otherwise, about every single thing I do. It hits me first thing every morning, of course, as I face my daily mission of finding the perfect outfit and accessories to introduce to my waiting public each day. But subtly, it is the message that filters through everything and aligns the world according to a standard, only to fail on a detail. This "red shoe" epiphany was the commencement of the global "what's-wrong-with-this-picture" game I have played my entire life.
This perfection-driven insanity has created a world of remodeled freaks of nature, sporting new noses and breasts so that one little thing that is a little "off" will just go away. No job is ever really well-done, there is always something that could have, should have, might have, been done better. All this looping, rewinding, editing, and the like has crippled the world I live in. For years, I was afraid to try something new, because grand failure had to be fatal if you could have a crisis over the wrong colored shoes, after all.
The best thing that ever happened to me (eventually) was having children. The harder I tried to duplicate the Perfection Endeavor I knew from my own childhood, the worse I failed. These creatures got dirty, broke things, and even dressed themselves in play clothes that didn't match! When I got too sick to hold together the details of the perfect little life I was striving to achieve, I found that the world did not end. All that fear was wasted energy.
Once, my husband dressed my toddler to meet me and go out one evening and I discovered that Ben had two different color socks on his feet and no emergency change of clothes in the diaper bag, just in case there was a traumatic occurrence of a Stain. No matching socks?! Somehow, Ben did not lose a moment of joy over that and neither did his Dad. Fortunately for me, I married a man who did not have a whistle to blow or even a remote desire to inspect his children this way. He let them be who they are and I joined into the remedial education course he was teaching back then.
My friend Terry and I were in Shoe Wonderland (DSW) some time ago and I persuaded her to try on a delightful selection of shoes. She got a gorgeous pair of bronze Coach platform shoes made of soft, Italian leather. She also, per my directive, purchased a pair of scarlet-red slingback, wood platform 4" heels. Now, when she puts them on, they are her own "ruby slippers" that give her courage when she goes to speak in public.
A few years ago, I received a gift from some friends in lieu of flowers after surgery. The note attached to the gift card gave me express instructions to use it only for the purchase of some fabulous shoes. It was a substantial gift, and I was delirious as I moved through the Nordstrom shoe department trying on dozens of shoes. And then, by the suggestion of a total stranger, I was handed a box with a pair of shoes he had a hunch I would love/love/love! I tried them on, and they were indeed truly wonderful shoes.
So maybe my father was right after all? They were, after all, red shoes.
Wow I loved this post. Very moving and so well written. I too, have had to learn the hard way that I am a "should" - er. Everything I do "should" have been better or should have been done this way. Ugh! A horrible burden to carry. But alas life is about learning and I am no longer carrying that around. Yeah for you! (DSW is truly shoe heaven)
ReplyDeletePS Thanks for visiting my blog
Oh, Julie . . . your words are so amazing. You put us in the room with you - like in a dream where sometimes you're watching what is happening and suddenly you feel you are the main character. Your "lens" lets us see all the details - your dad's pursed lips, your quivering chin. Or maybe it is that your words bring to mind memories from my parallel universe. Thanks for sharing so much of yourself. Can't wait for the next "chapter!"
ReplyDeleteThat was so much fun to read Julie. I love that you have remembered that phrase your whole life. Just shows how much your dad's opinion meant to you.
ReplyDeleteMy mom must have been distantly related to your dad. She always had a pair of red heels in her closet and wore them, I thought, way too often.
She wore heels all the time...Gray heels were at the back door for gardening. Honestly! My kids
will verify that.
Once when she was in her eighties and we were visiting her in FL she put red shoes on with a brown dress. I got the nerve up to ask her if she thought red was the best choice for that shade of brown. Her reply? "Red goes with anything!" Charlie and our kids and I have used that quote so many times since then.
Not wanting to be as flamboyant as my mom I've not bought a pair of red shoes in decades. Okay. I'm afraid my sons will tease me. I'm thinking right now that I might just buy me those red high heels. Red would be better...and red goes with anything.
Julie,
ReplyDeleteI know where you should go for your next vacation. Leon Mexico. They are the shoe capitol of Mexico, and they have whole malls with just shoe stores. You could get many red shoes there.
Great blog.
Cathie
The husband comment was fantastic!
ReplyDeleteWhen your father knew me when I was a young teen little did he know that almost 40 years later he would help me decide to wear red shoes. I own a pair of sleek red leather high heels and I wear them with an outfit that may need a splash of color. When I wear my red shoes I feel different than when I wear any of my other shoes. Sometimes I hesitate wearing them thinking it may be too much but now I will always remember your father saying, "Red shoes would be better."
ReplyDeleteWhat a wonderful story! We all a times have our "red shoe moment". The best thing we can do is learn things happen...Something we all are working on.
ReplyDeleteJulie, keep writing your words can resonate to the souls of millions!
I love that story. I too tried to have a "perfect Life", "children" etc. One day you realize WHY??? Everyone hates you, and your'e still not satisfied with the results you are not getting from these people who are not cooperating at all, anyway? So, WHY??? Aren't we happy for husbands who already got this. That's why Jehovah made husbands and wives to raise kid together, to buffer the insanity.
ReplyDelete