NEW
MILLENNIUM MOTHERS
|
When
it's Nike™ vs. Mom, The Shoes Must Lose
|
|
I never started thinking about new shoes for
my very active 12-year-old son until the rubber flapped
around his toes and there were at least two holes
in each sole. The shoes had to be bombed out before
I would submit myself to the athletic shoe store minefields
with Andrew. And when I did, my pockets had to be
filled with cash, because no pre-teen American boy
is going to accept a pair of new shoes on layaway.
I
am convinced that it is a particular curse for any
single mother to escort her son to buy athletic
shoes. And that is exactly what NIKE, Adidas, and
the great American sports shoe purveyors are counting
on.
Twice
a year, when I am forced to go kicking and screaming
into the mall, I swear that I will take control.
I remind myself that I pay the bills, not Scotty
Pippin. I declare that I will not surrender to my
son's request for shoes that are more expensive
than next week's groceries. I say to myself, over
and over, like a mantra, that I will stand my ground.
I will not surrender...this time.
Driving
to the mall I tell my son that he is growing so
rapidly that it doesn't make sense to buy expensive
sneakers. He is quiet and reflective and I think
that I am finally getting through to him. We even
hold hands until the infrared lights of Foot Locker
gleam in his eyes and he bolts ahead of me like
Carl Lewis in the '96 Olympics.
By
the time I catch up to my son, he has already asked
the salesman for the new Michael Jordan's in a size
eight. I say, "Hold it, right there, buster.
How much are those Michael Jordans?"
"They are $155," says the embarrassed
salesman who is dressed appropriately in a black
and white referee's uniform.
"Forget
it, Andrew," I say to my son. "I am not
paying $155 for a pair of sneakers that you can
only wear for a couple of months before you outgrow
them."
"They are not sneakers, Mom," says my
son. "They are athletic shoes. And these will
last twice as long as other shoes. Besides,"
he snorts with tears welling in his eyes, "I
have to have them."
The
referee takes a step towards Andrew with the box
and sees me glaring at him. He stops and stands
motionless. Flag on the play. It's my ball as I
send the salesman scurrying to another part of the
store with my hostile look.
"I'll
pay half for them, Mom. Please, Mom. Ple-e-e-ez,"
says Andrew looking at the disappearing box like
it was sinking treasure. I know this game. My normally
reasonable son has begun his satanic ritual of wearing
me down until he walks all over me in the athletic
shoes of his first choice.
He
tells me in details that would make any car salesman
proud, about Christopher's $160 Scotty Pippins.
And about Edward's $120 Sean Kemps. If I really
love him, he says, I should buy the $155 Michael
Jordans so that he won't be embarrassed when he
goes to school.
I
spend ten minutes patiently explaining to my son
why his heart's desire is not practical. I walk
over to the polished faux-mahogany wall, where there
are dozens of attractively displayed athletic shoes
- by sport, by gender, laces as colorful as all
the flags in the United Nations. A few are reasonably
priced below $50 and some are on sale. I point to
the shoes on sale or last season's blockbusters.
When Andrew barely gives them a nod, I yank him
out of the store like he was wet laundry, in front
of a small but startled audience.
The
second store we visit has over 100 pairs of athletic
shoes on display. And the third, more than 168.
I know because I count them while my son embraces
the Michael Jordans on the glass pedestal in the
precise middle of the entrance to the store. The
Jordans have their own lighted Plexiglas ® box.
And three other kids about my son's age are lovingly
fondling a second pair...in blood red.
Back
in the day, when I was a kid, fashion pressure dictated
how we color coordinated our clothes or how we wore
our hair. But who would have thought that this peer
pressure could sink to this level.
Now
usually after being held hostage in two or three
malls in one afternoon, I am worn down enough to
compromise and buy my son a pair of $100 Dr. Js
in a desperate attempt to flee with pocket change
and a bit of my dignity in tact. But this time I
decided to sweat it out. It was time for me to take
a stand on footwear!
In
the fifth store I became so upset with my son that
I almost cracked. His attitude was funkier than
Dennis Rodman being ignored by the press. I hadn't
seen my son throw a tantrum like this since he was
three-years-old.
I
found myself gurgling a silent scream. I was sweating
and feeling claustrophobic. I had to sit down. The
sympathetic sales representative helped me to a
bench. "Your breakdown isn't that unusual,"
he said. "That's how most kids get their shoes."
He handed me a tissue. I asked for a cup of water.
Andrew
and I left the mall without shoes that day. And
without speaking.
Later I learned that Andrew tried to bribe Grandma,
his dad and Godfather Elvin into taking him to buy
those Jordans. But I beat him to the punch, telling
them that if they bought my son a pair of shoes
that cost over $60, I'd give them to a homeless
shelter.
I
determined, at that very moment, that I would never
again allow a pair of over-priced, celebrity-endorsed
athletic shoes to darken my doorstep. Never!
With human rights activists screaming for the heads
of pricey athletic shoe manufacturers, and with
all the blood-money passed to greedy athletes who
have little conscience for consumers, you'd think
that there would be a movement of outraged moms
and dads who refuse to be held hostage by all those
ruthless rubber barons. Link to Pappas 5 Point Pledge
After
all, lets admit it, when you're struggling to pay
the rent each month, buying shoes that allow your
kids to walk on air makes no down-to-earth sense.
It seems to me that it is time for parents to stand
firm and stick to their guns on what they can afford
and are willing to pay for shoes.
Peace
finally returned to our house when Andrew settled
on a nice, comfortable pair of no-name, no-nonsense
Adidas athletic shoes that were regularly priced
at $49.95. He wears them everyday without complaint.
No one laughs at him or calls him a geek. A few
of his friends even bought the same style.
It occurs to me that my stand may be of value to
other parents, caught in the vice of their kids'
angry demands for pricey footwear. My own experience
has finally taught me that even with the big ad
bucks and all the media in the world, when the fight
is between NIKE and Mom, the shoes must lose.
© Valerie Shaw 2000-
All Rights Reserved
**All contents are the exclusive rights of the author
and may not be copied, excerpted, nor duplicated without
the expressed written permission of the author. For
questions regarding duplication of this work, send
email to author.
Related
Articles:
PAPPAS
5 Point Pledge
Talking
a good game, CEO/Founder
Philip H. Knight's letter to Nike stockholders
Nike
wants to hear from you. Click "Responsibility,"
then "Talk To Us."
