Look at my new shoes

The airport security ritual begins. I empty the contents of my pant’s pockets into the pockets of my jacket and then place my jacket into a bin. My watch is next. Then my belt. I look down at my shoes. I hate having to take them off and walk barefoot through security.

I raise my leg to show the security guard my shoe, “Are my shoes OK?”

“That depends on you,” she says. My foot hovered uncomfortably as I pondered her reply.

“What? No, do I have to take them off?” I asked.

She didn’t look up from what she was doing as she replied, “You can always try.”

I lowered my foot and proceeded, setting off an alarm. “That’s odd,” I said to the next security guard as I raised both arms up as if being crucified.

“It’s a random alarm so I need to swab you,” she said. I let my arms hang until she started swabbing not so random parts of my body and clothes, including my shoes. I started to wonder about the randomness of the alarm.

Having passed the swab test (and considering just taking the damn shoes off next time) I collected my things and, my belt upside down but securely in place, headed to the gate, thinking about the last time I showed off my shoes.

I was perhaps six or seven years old and in the back seat of my Dad’s car. We had made a rare excursion to Buffalo to do some shopping and my brother and I were sporting new running shoes – canvass sneakers. My Dad told us not to mention our new shoes as we crossed the border. Of course, neither my younger brother or I had a clue what the border was.

As we approached, my Dad answered the border guard’s questions. When he asked if there was anything to declare, I remembered not to mention the new shoes, so I leaned back and raised my feet so the border guard could see them, my brother following suit. Dad never said I couldn’t show them off; just not say anything. The guard waived us on with nothing more than a chuckle.

My Dad didn’t say anything to either of us, but we never went to Buffalo again.

As I find a seat at the gate, the memory reminds me to take things in stride. As much as I find others frustrating me, I’m sure I give as good as I get.

I lean forward and look at my feet, imagining new canvass sneakers and say to no one in particular, “Look at my new shoes!”