I always used to envy how pretty my big sister Julie was when she'd get new shoes.They always made her so popular and she'd have so many girlfriends over just so they could look at all of her new shoes. I'd sneak into her closet and try on all of her shoes when she wasn't around. But somehow those same pretty shoes never looked as good after being handed down from Julie to Elizabeth to me. I just wanted new shoes. I knew they'd make me look pretty and they'd make me happy. I wanted all the girls at school to talk about how merry and beautiful I always was. I'd beg Momma & Daddy to buy me new shoes, but Daddy would always say, "Now, child, you know these beautiful shoes from Julie and Elizabeth were new just a few years ago. You can just give them a little spit and wipe 'em with a rag and they'll be good as new. Besides, they're not old shoes that you've been wearin', now are they? To you, my child, they are new shoes, which you have never worn." With that he'd hand me my "new" shoes and give me a little pat to let me know he'd said all that he'd wanted to say.

Sometimes I'd think about what he said, but I'd wonder if they really were new to me when I had already worn them all those times trying them on in the closet. Sometimes I'd imagine my "new" shoes really were new, I'd imagine they were various shapes, colors and designs. I'd think how I'd always wanted some brand new shoes, maybe with a big red bow and rainbow stripes down the sides. I'd like a pair that wouldn't squish my toes, but weren't so loose they'd fall off, either. Maybe they'd be lime-green & sparkly, too, with big bright pink polk-a-dots. On my shoes I wanted velcro or shoelaces or zippers. Maybe they'd be slippers, flip-flops or high heels, tennies or dress shoes; I didn't care. I just wanted to get me some brand new shoes.

But then, Momma always said, I didn't need any new ones because I had all the hand-me-downs from my big sisters. Momma said I should thank God that I had feet, she said that there's people out there who don't got any feet at all. Ididn't believe her though, I mean, how could someone not have feet?

So, one year, as Memorial Day came around, my school did a field trip to a retirement center. Before we went in, our teacher, Mrs. Applecrumb, said for us to be kind and gentle, no staring or shying away because of weird sights or smells. She gave us each a slip of paper with a name on it, we were supposed to meet our "buddy" and then play board games, card games or puzzles with them; have fun with them; and cheer them up. I thought this sounded like a piece of cake, as I knew how to win any game I ever played, and I planned on continuing my winning streak today. But, when I went into the room, there, looking right back at me, was a man with no legs. He was sitting in a wheel chair with a great big jolly smile on his face. All I could do was stare wide-mouthed at this man, and then, stupidly, I blurted out: "What happened to your legs?" I immediately realized my rudeness and apologized but he just chuckled and rolled over to me in his wheelchair. He took me on his lap and told me his story of battle and how he had to have his legs amputated to prevent a dangerous infection from spreading throughout the rest of his body. I asked him questions and he answered me willingly. Finally, I asked him if he'd like to play cards. I told him I'd beat him every time, but boy, was I wrong.

As we sat there having cookies and lemonade, laughing and playing games, I realized that no matter what you wear on your feet, or even if you don't have feet, you can still be just as good-looking, kind and merry as you'd like. When you give a big, jolly, honest smile to anyone, you'll be as beautiful and kind as my "buddy" was in my eyes.

Of course, I'd still enjoy a new pair of shoes, but I'm very thankful that I have feet, to run and play with, I have feet to wear the shoes that I do have, and I'm very grateful when my sisters give me another "new" pair of shoes.