Give Forward

For a long time I've been wanting to give back to my community in some way.  Part of this urge is to make up for all the horror I've caused people in the past, but also because I sincerely want to make a difference.  The thing is I just didn't want it to be the typical volunteer service though.  You know...helping out down at the local Salvation Army soup line or being a Big Brother to some hard-headed ass kid that reminds me of myself when I was their age.  Although, for awhile I did coach a Little League Football team (Go Huntersville Wolverines!) full of 8-10 year olds, which I really enjoyed doing.  But then worked picked up and now I'm in school, so coaching anything is out of the question.  One weekend morning during one of my many commutes I was listening to a local radio station and they were interviewing, what seemed to be a young(ish) lady talking about a non-profit organization called "A 1000 Shoes For A 1000 Smiles".  And the purpose of this organization is each year, since 2004 (I think), their mission is to give away 2000 brand new shoes to needy school-aged kids.  I knew immediately, hearing this, this was something I can definitely relate to and get involved in.  Where do I sign?

True story.  One summer right before the school was to start, once again, my mother didn't have enough money to buy me and my little brother new shoes for year or at least for the first six months, which is the length of time it took before she had to buy us a new pair again.  About this time I was around 16 years old.  My brother is five years younger than me.  We both were tired of having to deal with the ridicule every school year because we had to return still were wearing our old shoes from last year.  I had a plan.  There was an A&N store down the block from us at the corner of the shopping mall.  They didn't have security or anything and since I was pretty big for my age I had the cashier guy by 25 pounds at least.  So one fateful night I walked in, while my brother stood post outside the store, and began to browse for our dream shoes - The Jordan VI.

I picked a blue pair for me and a red pair for him, with my heart pounding through my chest, I proceeded to the front door.  After about three steps the cashier guy halts me and very "customer-service" like grabs the shoes from my grip and tells me, "The shoes will be waiting for you behind the counter when you're ready to pay."  Smiling at me with his mouth, his eyes telling me, "Don't even think about it".  Damn, what do I do now?  My little brother looking at me through the glass window saying, "Damn, what you gonna do now?"  I moped around the store debating to myself, while leisurely picking up a couple sweatpants (???) and a few shirts, very casually inching my way back closer to the counter. I don't think I once took my eyes off them shoes.  Fuck it.  There was no way we were going back to school in old shoes!  With the clothes draped over my arm I swooped behind the counter, snatched up the shoe boxes, spun, and made a mad dash for the door.  I could hear the cashier guy screaming after me, "GET BACK HERE!"  Ain't gonna' happen chief.  Next thing I knew my little brother was opening the door for me, wisely, with just enough room for me to slip through.  I heard something crash into the concrete behind me and someone laughing but I was in the wind.  My escape route home was almost as if it was meant to be.  I raced into the house, cut off all the lights and lied there in the darkness on the living room floor scared, relieved, elated, every emotion was in a ball in my stomach.  I made it.  My brother's knock on the door, scared the crap out of me.  He walked in, the look on his face was happy-confusion.  I was his hero.  The act was so uncharacteristic of me (at the time), but we had new shoes.  Sadly, to this day my mother never asked me where or how I got them.
So as I'm listening to the radio, flashing back to that night, I wonder how many kids got that same story to tell.  I don't want to know.