I was leafing thru the various magazines that offer clothes, shoes and what-nots that flood my mailbox --when there they were! The shoes or rather the sandals that would have generated years of therapy for my little sister, had my mother been able to afford it. While my family was not rich by any means, growing up my sister and I always had three pairs of shoes. There were shoes we wore to Sunday school and church, shoes we wore to school, and shoes we played in. Wearing the wrong ones at the wrong times guaranteed my mother’s wrath.

We got new shoes twice a year -- for Easter and for back to school. The Easter ones were little white, patent leather affairs with a bow at the toe and a scrap across the instep. These were worn until Labor Day. Then we wore little black patent leather ones that were similar to the Easter ones. 

Growing up in Washington, DC, kids did not go back to school until after Labor Day. So a few days before, my mother and sister and I would set out for Sears and Roebuck department store to purchase our back-to-school clothes. Raised during the Depression my mother didn’t believe in spending money if she didn’t have too. She also didn’t care one whit whether we kids were in style or not. Her one concern was that the clothes we wore were clean.  So to save money, every fall she bought us black and white saddle shoes. These were better known as oxfords. Or what we called the shoes that never died and that you couldn’t kill. Believe me. We tried everything to tear them up, for mother was also adamant about us not wearing clothes or shoes with holes in them. 

One year as we shopped for school clothes, mother spied the sandals. White with faux stones of blues, reds and greens, I believe I saw a picture of Queen Cleopatra wearing them around 30 BC. That they were on sale -- well mother was over the moon. She thought that they would look nice on my sister. At the time, my sister was nine years old and wore a size nine shoe.

Picture it: feet the size of small boats, sporting jeweled ‘Cleo’ sandals, worn with long knee socks! (We always wore socks with sandals). Because we weren’t supposed to make fun of each other, I hid behind a tall shoe rack and laughed until I cried. My sister however, was not amused. 

Braving punishment (another no-no was to never embarrass mother in public) she threw a serious tantrum right in the middle of Sears’ shoe department. Frustrated, my mother told her if she didn’t like them that she wouldn’t get any new shoes. For once my sister didn’t care that she’d have to wear the dreaded black and white shoes. Or that she had to polish them every night. At fifty-something, today, I suspect my sister would look rather smart in these sandals.  They also come in black.  And she can wear them without socks.