I have an old black and white photo taken on a long ago Christmas. Our family is seated around my Grandmother's dining room table. My sister Judy and I are next to Mother; we are wearing our best dresses with our hair done up in cork-screw curls and big sateen bows plastered to the side of our heads. Mamma thinks we're beautiful, but then, Daddy does not call us "Horsehide" and "Buckshot" for nothing. The picture shows Pappa getting ready to carve the turkey. Grandma in her apron is standing behind him. Grandma is our matron saint and she has a direct hot line to God. We know this because she has told us so. Grandma is always the one who says the blessing over our meals. Her prayers last so long that even the turkey has to be restrained from marching across the table to slap a drumstick in her mouth. I remember that Christmas well - it is the Christmas of the baby blue Mary Jane shoes.
I was chosen to be in the Christmas pageant at school that year....Mother was so proud. I would be a dove. I did not want to be a dove. I wanted to be Mary, mother of the baby Jesus. Mary got to wear a cape over her head and look important. Besides, everyone knew that this part was always given to the most popular girl. Sharon Jones received the coveted role. I hated her. Not that she had ever done anything personal to me, other than wearing black patent Mary Jane shoes to school every day. I lusted after those shoes. Judy and I wore ugly saddle oxfords that Grandma bought for us at the start of every school year because, as she told Daddy, we needed something sturdy. I was sure that Ghengis Khan had worn a sturdy pair just like them when he crossed the Alps. I was glad on pageant night that my white robe covered my ugly shoes. And I would get to sing, something Mary couldn't do...she could only sit there and smile at baby Jesus. But when the spotlight finally came my way, I froze. The lamb standing next to me elbowed me in the ribs, and I managed a few pitiful squeaks, but nobody beyond the first row heard a thing. Mother told me that the lady seated next to her said, "Isn't she sweet? She looks just like a little dove." I distinctly remember feeling just like a little jackass.
I awaited the arrival of Christmas morning that year eagerly, because I had requested from Santa a Jon Gnagy "Learn to Draw" set. I knew this wish had been fulfilled because I had peeked under Mamma and Daddy's bed. My fingers itched with impatience to "learn to draw". When the big day finally arrived, Judy and I were out of bed at the crack of dawn. Under the tree we discovered that Santa had, indeed, been very generous. There were two walking dolls with open-and-shut eyes and long curly hair. They had the uncanny wisdom that all little dolls possess, knowing that as soon as we tired of playing with them, we would cut off all that beautiful hair and they would look like they'd had recent brain surgery. There were also some books, a wooden map puzzle of the United States (Santa was always big on anything educational), and a dainty porcelain tea set for Judy and sure enough, my Jon Gnagy "Learn to Draw" set. As I reached out to pick it up, my eyes fell on something blue, half-hidden behind the tree. I inched around to get a closer look, and found a pair of Mary Jane shoes, just my size, with a tag hanging from one strap. It read: "To Patty - Love, Santa".
I have no words to describe the ecstasy I felt at the sight of those shoes. Angels sang, and the bells of Heaven rang, and in my ten-year-old heart there was peace on earth, goodwill to all men, including Sharon Jones. You cannot see my feet in that old faded snapshot, but I can assure you they are wearing baby blue Mary Jane shoes. I wore them until they were scuffed and ragged, until I had to fold my toes under to fit into them, until even the straps fell off.
As a postscript, I might add that by the time I was a senior in high school, saddle oxfords became the "in" shoes to have. They were now fashionably called "rah-rahs", and anyone who wanted to be popular simply had to have a pair. I would have sold my dearly beloved Grandma then to possess what I had once considered the ugliest footwear on the face of the earth. And it goes without saying who the first girl in our class was to own a pair of these shoes. That's right. Good old Sharon Jones. God bless us every one.
Sharon, if you're reading this......I forgive you. |
