At seventeen years old, I was a brat. A mixture of innocence, immaturity and righteousness. And I carried that attitude with me everywhere, including my trip to the shoemaker.
Now, to understand why something as simple as a trip to the shoemaker would stay with me all these years later, I have to explain. I came from the most loving and nurturing parents a child could ever want. Even back then, I knew I was blessed with a wonderful family, but this realization also made me a little arrogant. My fierce devotion to family could be blinding at times.
When my dad asked me to pick up his shoes from the shoemaker, I eagerly obliged. Although he rarely asked, I loved doing favors for him and this was an easy request. Or so I thought. This simple errand proved more daunting than I originally anticipated, but it also provided me with a valuable lesson in life.
On my first attempt to pick up the shoes, I was informed they weren't ready. "Please, come back," the shoemaker said. However, although he said "please", his response was curt.
As far as I was concerned, my dad never made mistakes, so I looked at the ticket and confirmed that I had the right date. "The ticket said they would be ready today," I responded in an indignant tone.
"Tomorrow," was all he said. Then he turned to his next customer. I'm sure he didn't need a teenager lecturing him about his business obligations.
Prone to the dramatics of my youth, I rolled my eyes and left in a huff, complaining about his lack of responsibility under my breath.
When I returned the next day, ready to forgive him for the inconvenience, I was informed the shoes were not ready. Oh, you would think tragedy struck my perfect little world. My daddy needs his shoes, I though. How could the shoemaker be so inconsiderate? I stormed out of the shop without a word, but my body language spoke volumes.
My third trip (in three days) yielded the same results, and now I was furious at the shoemaker. Who did he think he was? What kind of a business was he running?
Without thinking, I demanded the shoes back. He complied with my request, grabbed the shoes from a large pile on his workbench and shoved them into a bag. "Here you go, young lady," he said with a smirk.
I was fuming. I took the bag, bid him a sarcastic "thank you" and slammed the door on my way out.
When I got home, I explained everything to my dad. As usual, my dialog was animated. I clutched the bag, imitated the shoemaker and walked around the living room acting out - continued below ...
