He left a little bit of his sole behind.

My kid brother (and he will always be my ‘kid’ brother; I don’t care if he’s over 40 now) and I had a typically contentious relationship growing up. We were primary playmates and chief rivals, great friends and terrible enemies. He always seemed to be underfoot and in my way when it was least convenient, yet was never anywhere to be found when I actually *wanted* him around.

One of the things I remember clearly from our childhood relationship is his jealousy.

While I don’t recall being particularly jealous of him – or of any of his things – he seemed to constantly be on the verge of a jealous rage about any and every thing I was or had or did. Often without merit.

One of the things it always struck me odd about his jealousy was that for several years – years in which I was growing by leaps and bounds – he was jealous of my shoes.

Our mother was (and still is) incredibly pragmatic about footwear. She saw no need for my brother and I to have more clothes or shoes than were strictly necessary, and in the ‘shoe’ department that meant – as young children – that we each had one pair of “tennis shoes” (sneakers) for playing and going to school in and one pair of “dress shoes” for going to church in, and that was it.

And when our shoes – everyday or dress – either got worn out or outgrown, then and only then did we trek down to Henry’s (Henry’s was an *actual* shoe store, the family-owned kind that knew their customers by name and measured kids’ feet and sold high quality footwear) for replacements.

But see…

I took that trek to Henry’s many many times between ages 5 and 10 because it was during that span of time that I essentially grew from being ‘child size’ to reaching pretty near my full adult height.

All that growing meant I was OUT-growing my shoes at a rapid rate.

Which meant I was getting new shoes at a rapid rate.

Whereas, my brother – who is three years younger than me – pretty much spent those years being a short-stuff and getting new shoes only when he’d completely destroyed the ones he’d been wearing previously.

He railed about this discrepancy, in full tantrum “It’s not FAIR!” shouty insousiance, every.single.time I got taken for new shoes.

UNTIL he got a pair of shoes that were just.SO.amazing that he was lucky — LUCKY! — he didn’t have to get his shoes replaced all the time like his big sister did. Because since he wasn’t outgrowing his shoes constantly, it meant he could *keep* these super awesome fantastic shoes FOR A LONG TIME.

The shoes?

They were Incredible Hulk velcro-top sneakers. Complete with The Hulk ‘hulking out’ on the toe of each foot and with The Incredible Hulk stamped into the rubber on the soles.

Oh, how cool those shoes were! (I even thought so, and I wasn’t even into The Hulk.) “Didja see my shoes?” was his most oft-asked question of anyone who might have missed them (he was four years old); “I’m going to have them for a long time!” was his announcement when any adult cautioned him to take good care of his fancy footwear.

And he probably truly thought he would take good care of them. But there is a huge disconnect in 4-yr-old thinking, in that the concept of consequences for actions taken doesn’t really dawn on that young of a mind.

I mentioned he was a tantrum thrower, yes?

Let me also mention that he was, when it came to our father, a desperate attention-seeker.

And he was prone to disobey any and all directions given to him by anyone, including the father from whom he so desperately wanted attention.

So with that in mind:

Picture…

• a sunny spring day, during which
• our father – with help from my uncles – was laying in a new patio, via
• pouring quick-set cement

Now picture…

• a recalcitrant boy child, who wants to help his dad and his uncles but has been told to stay back, so he
• (as usual) doesn’t listen,
• escapes his mother’s hold, and
• in his incredible shoes
• walks —
• nay, runs then sinks —
• into said quick-set cement

And so it was that The End came for The Incredible Hulk shoes.

BUT

‘The End’ was immortalized.

(After a fashion.)

The house we grew up in has changed hands several times since we moved out, but to this day the patio remains.

And framed into the first cement square that comprises that patio are two small footprints from the shoes my brother wore that day, inside the soles of which can clearly be read in the concrete: The Incredible Hulk.

I’ve heard people say they’ve left a piece of their heart behind when they move away from a home they loved.

With everything that happened in that house, both beautiful and terrible, I think both my brother and I had – and probably will always have – mixed emotions about moving on from that abode.

So I don’t know about the ‘heart’ part of leaving pieces of ourselves in that place.

But he, for one, can say with sincerity that he left a little bit of his sole behind. 😉

for the Reminiscences prompt: SHOES

To learn more about the project or to participate yourself, please click the badge or the prompt link above.