Ms. Aspenleiter's Completed Assignment

I thought you might appreciate this, and I also wanted to see if you were checking the blog and posting.
Let Ms. Aspenleiter know what you think if you read this.

Here's the poetry prompt website that inspired this:
https://www.pspoets.com/blog/30daypoetrychallenge

From Ms. Aspenleiter:

Hi Everyone!  So I am trying to do an assignment from each teacher, WHAP from Tillotson, Chemistry from Eng/Gallagher, US History from Mr. Laird and now this assignment that I found to be quite interesting.  I checked out Ms. Gamzon's 30 Story Starters and quite honestly, I have no idea if I did this assignment right or wrong I just know that I feel good about doing it.  The starter that I opted for was: Describe your favorite pair of shoes. Tell a story about the places they’ve been.  So I started to write and here is the end result.  I hope that my level of writing is not insulting to anyone, I mean after all you all have been writing creatively for 5 years and this is my first attempt.  So as you read it, if you read it, be kind and remember, I am new at this...

Please keep healthy, check out the 2021 or 2020 Google Classroom page we have created (you received an email from Mr. Kelly last week) and do not hesitate to call me or text me if you need anything, 585-953-7426.  Until the next assignment….

Describe your favorite pair of shoes. Tell a story about the places they’ve been.

Every pair of shoes that I have owned, at one time or another, have been special to me.  I think back to my wedding shoes….they were white lace boots that tied up the front with cute stiletto heels.  My mother strictly forbid the purchase of these boots stating that they “sent the wrong message” as if boots could really send a message.  These boots were what I wore on the day that, in my mind, released me from my 22 year “jail” sentence in my parent’s proclaimed, yet unnamed detention center.  On this day, in these boots my life would most certainly change forever.  These boots that I wore on my wedding day ushered me into what I believed was going to be the “beginning the rest of my life.”  They were the boots I wore when I ran away from what in my mind was my dysfunctional childhood.  My wedding boots represented the day that I began to make my own decisions and the day I took charge of my life.

My white Reebok sneakers on the other hand represented our drive to Rochester General Hospital to deliver my daughter, and five years later, my son.  The perfectly white sneakers that I wore on this day I could not even tie because my belly got in the way.  These were the white sneakers that I wore when I entered the hospital and waddled down the hallway to the delivery room where I would soon be responsible for another person’s life.  These were the white sneakers that I had on when they told me that I would not be able to deliver my baby, but that they would take care of this for me due to complications.  Upon hearing these words I hung my head low and cried so fiercely that I remember the tears falling from my eyes onto my big belly, cascading down to my white sneakers leaving them tear soaked. These white sneakers were what I was putting on when they entered my room on that last day and handed me that beautiful baby, wished me good luck, turned and left the room acting as if I was totally prepared for life with my baby.  I sat on the edge of that bed as they left, looked at my baby, then my husband and fear flowed through my body as we walked out of that hospital and I remember saying in a barely audible voice, “walk, there is no turning around, you can do this.”  My white sneakers brought me to the car where we drove off.

I then think back to my black two inch heels that I wore to my father’s funeral.  They were plain, boring, black shoes that every self-respecting daughter would wear to an event such as this.  I distinctively remember putting my shoes on that day, trying to wrap myself around the fact that the man who treated me like garbage so often, was gone.  These were the shoes that I wore when my family and I paraded down the center of the church, behind the bronze casket, where we were ushered to our seats, where we sat while the priest made comments about the man that he did not even know.  These were the shoes that I wore when we walked to the graveyard on that very cold day in March, snowflakes landing all around us and feeling as though my toes would fall off, I remember thinking “thanks dad for dying in the winter instead of the summer months” I chuckled as I thought this was just another way for him to punish me, after all he knew how much I hated the cold.  These shoes were the ones that I stood in as they lowered the casket into the ground and the shoes I wore when every person in attendance, and there were many, took a flower and gently tossed it into the cold dark hole that now contained my father as they walked away.  These were the shoes I wore when I gently kicked one of those flowers on to the casket and walked away.  These were the shoes that I wore when we gathered as Italians do after the burial and ate, drank and laughed as we listened to stories about the wonderful and caring father that I had and how lucky I must feel for having such a terrific dad.  These were the shoes that I wore when I agreed with each and every one of them because that is what a good daughter does, right?  These were the shoes I had on when I finally got home from this insane day, and I sat down and slowly I bent over to take my black two inch heels off when I began to cry for the first time for the father that I never had.

My shoes of today, the shoes I wear to work, the ugly back clodhoppers that several students and colleagues make fun of everyday, the ones  I wear not because I want to wear them but because my feet are in constant pain, riddled with arthritis.  The shoes that I wear as my only option because I just cannot imagine walking in anything else despite their ugliness. These are the shoes I wear when I set up for scanning every morning at 6:00 AM and while I stand there for two hours trying somehow to make all the students that  enter through my line feel good about being at school, when I know so many of them hate it here.  These are the shoes I wear when I am walking up and down the halls yelling at kids to get to class, telling them that every minute matters and that they should care more about their education than I do. These are the shoes I wear when I am running to a fight with my heart in my throat wondering will I get there in time and keep everyone safe.  These are the shoes I wear to the countless meetings that I attend about building safety and security, instruction, leadership, attendance or the well-being of each student in this building.  These are the shoes I put on at 5:15 in the morning and do not take off until I get home at 8:00 at night.

There will be other special shoes in my life, like the ones I put on the day I retire and the ones I put on the morning after I retire that finally signifies the end of my career and the start of something amazing.  The shoes that I put on when my grown children move out of our family home and will change the dynamics of my life entirely as they did when they entered my life.   The shoes I wear when my daughter and son get married, or the ones I wear when I am rushing to the hospital at the birth of my grandchildren.  The shoes I wear as I travel the world, the shoes I wear as I take my “wonder” walks and the shoes that they ultimately put on me at my own funeral.  But I think perhaps more important than the shoes that I wear, would be the person that I am when I am wearing them.  Will I be a confident woman moving on to the next part of my life or will I be a sad, helpless woman experiencing pain and anguish?  Does it really matter? Because as quickly as I put the shoes on for that particular life changing event, life will once again change and there will be another pair of special shoes to walk me through it.