Chapter 1: What stories about footwear are shared in this episode?
This is the Moth Radio Hour. I'm Jennifer Hickson. In this hour, stories about what you wear on your feet. How sad the world would be if all the shoes were sensible. Think about all the different kinds. Mary Janes, wingtips, clogs, cleats, Birkenstocks, loafers, stilettos.
You can tell a lot about a person and where they've been and even sometimes where they're going by what they're wearing on their feet. Our first story takes us from the Bronx to Puerto Rico and then back again. Here's Edgar Ruiz Jr., live from a show in Detroit, Michigan, where we partner with the Music Hall Center for the Performing Arts and Michigan Radio.
Back in the summer of 1993, I was 12 years old, living with my mom in the Bronx, New York. And she decided that she was gonna send me back to Puerto Rico to live with my dad for the entire summer. You see, when wealthy kids act up, they probably get sent to boarding schools. When New Eurekans act up, they sent us back to the island.
I wasn't a delinquent or anything like that, but let's just say puberty was hitting me really hard and my mama wasn't feeling me. She divorced my dad when I was two and we left Puerto Rico shortly after for New York, leaving him behind. As a child, I barely remember my pops. Like the earliest memories I have of him are long distance phone calls from my birthday and sometimes on Christmas.
Now you could say that the summer of 1992 started off on the wrong foot. Literally, the only pair of sneakers I took with me to Puerto Rico were stolen out of my suitcase at the airport. So I had to wear flip-flops in the mountains for a few days until my mom, who was in New York, forced my dad to get me some sneakers.
Now, this is probably a good time to let you know that at the age of 12, I was already six feet, one inch tall, 230-something pounds. and I wore a size 12 sneaker. Not a lot of size 12 sneakers in the small town of Cabo Rojo, Puerto Rico, where I'm from. So after unsuccessfully walking out of three discount shoe stores in town without a sneaker, my dad was heated.
He knew he was gonna have to take me to the mall and actually spend some money on me. He was mad. Not me though. I was excited. I'm a true city kid. We love sneakers in the hood. On my block, what you wore on your feet represented where you were at in the food chain. You wore some busted looking kicks. The kids were gonna eat you alive.
So when we got to the mall, I went straight to the Nike section. picked out some Air Force Ones, brought them back to my pops. My dad had a serious face on. He looked at the sneakers, he looked at the price, then he looked at me and in Spanish, he said, no. Y'all speak Spanish. Tell me to get something cheaper. So my next logical step was to get some Reeboks for like $29.99.
But before I could even get to him, he was shaking his head emphatically. By then I could see the frustration on his face.
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Chapter 2: How does Edgar Ruiz Jr.'s story reflect his childhood experiences?
And I barely knew this guy, so it was kind of intimidating. I gave it rather quickly and I allowed him to pick out whatever sneaker he wanted. Now I don't really remember the name brand of sneaker he chose. Because I think I repressed it. But I'll never forget how ugly these sneakers were. They were like a topish, tannish, grayish, brownish. And they were complete knockoffs of the Reebok pumps.
Y'all remember the pumps? They had a little wall on the tongue. Your sneaker would fill up with air. Those sneakers were so dope. These taupey knuckles were not. They cost them $13.99. And I was so disappointed he didn't buy me those Nikes. I was 12 years old. So him not getting me those sneakers obviously meant to me he had no love for me. I was gossiping with my mom on the phone that night.
And I was telling her, my dad is so cheap. Mom, I promise you, when I have my own kids, I'm gonna buy them the most expensive sneakers that I could afford to show them that I love them. Those are lies now.
Mm-mm.
Yo, my two and five-year-old wanted some sneakers. Yo, psst, they better get a job. Even though my dad didn't have love for me, I definitely had love for my father. So much so, that I actually fell in love with those ugly sneakers. Just because he bought them for me. And when I got back to New York, I literally wore those things till they ripped apart.
People made fun of me for wearing them things. I didn't care. My dad gave me those sneakers. And my dad never really gave me anything. Those ugly things hugging my feet were the closest I was gonna get to a hug from my dad. And I held on to them as long as I could. After that trip, I went once or twice as a kid, but then I took a long hiatus from Puerto Rico.
I didn't go back till I was 19 years old. By then I was a high school graduate, college sophomore actually. I was working, so I had a little bit of money in my pocket. So I went back to Puerto Rico wearing name brand everything. It was the early 2000s, so I was rocking them shiny Sean John shirts. Super baggy Pele Pele jeans. But most importantly, I was rocking Jordans.
Not just any Jordans either, we talk about the shiny patent leather. Air Jordan 11s. If you don't know anything about sneakers, just know that the Air Jordan 11s are on top of the food chain. I was showing off. I was trying to show my dad the man that I was becoming without his help. But I realized a few things on that trip. I realized that I was completely wrong about my father.
My dad wasn't cheap. He was just struggling. He lived most of his life living paycheck to paycheck. I looked it up. Minimum wage back in 92 was like $5.25. If he was lucky to be making that in the factory. So those $13.99 that he spent on them ugly sneakers must have been like half a day's work for the dude. And I was embarrassed. And I was humbled.
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