A Pair of Ugly Buster Browns

There were snickers in the girls washroom. Their titters picked at the air and whispered loud enough that I could hear it echo off the walls.

“There’s a BOY.”

“NO!”

“Look…look…there’s a BOY in the BATHROOM!”

“Those are the ugliest shoes!”

I sat frozen in the stall, wondering what to do. I looked down at my sensible Buster Brown shoes. I had on a pretty dress and ugly brown shoes. Loved the dress. Hated the shoes.

My mother had made a careful decision, I knew we didn’t have a lot of money. These would last the year. They would be good in the snow. I agreed with her logic. But, in the stall of that washroom I hated her logic. I wiggled my toes against the tissue paper that filled the ends of the shoes, just a little space so I could grow into them all fall. I was always waiting to grow into things.

Why was there always something ‘not quite right’ about me? My hair cut was funny, not to mention it was a hideous shade of red. I had ugly freckles all over my face. My skin burned bright red in the sun. My teeth were crooked. I was squinting in class but terrified to admit I needed glasses.

Why add insult to injury?

It wasn’t until I was much older that I got along with all of my differences, that I stopped caring so much what other people thought. It wasn’t until I got much older that I understood the sadness of those that chose to follow a leader and make themselves into a carbon copy of someone else. It wasn’t until I was much older that I really understood the concept of freedom.

So no, I can’t be part of your gang or crowd. It’s just not me and never will be. I can’t adjust myself to the right or to the left. I can’t subscribe to your religion or fashion.

Well…I could.

But, I value my freedom.

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