Story: The time I begged for Nikes

or How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Hate the Brand

It will never cease to amaze me that brand names actually mean something to most people.

Sixth grade was the second year in a row where I was the new kid at a new school, and my third time at a new school overall. I wasn't worried. I'd done this before. Up 'til then, I'd never thought twice about things like fashion. It had never come up at my other schools. Now, suddenly, it mattered.

If I wasn't the only kid in school without Nikes on his feet, it sure felt like I was. The kids at my new school were downright ravenous about it. The taunting was nonstop. I soon became known as the kid who wore Pamida specials (even though the shoes came from Payless).

I thought it would die down, but eventually the bullies at school had me begging Mom and Dad to buy me Nikes. No, they told me, we can't afford shoes like that. But the taunting was relentless and I was soon negotiating for Nikes. It's the only thing I want for Christmas, I pleaded. I can make it 'til then, I promise.

Eventually, Mom pulls out the Penny's catalog and says that they'll have to last 'til the next Christmas. Relief begins to wash over me. I pick out some bottom-dollar Nikes. To me, they look cool. Black with blue details. I begin to sense some relief.

The last couple of weeks before winter break are easier on me, secure in the knowledge that my torture would soon be coming to an end. Every day at home, I'm eyeing the shoebox-sized package under the tree. Agonizing torture gives way to delicious torture. I don't think I ever anticipated Christmas so much. 

Then, finally, the day arrives. I tear into the box and reveal the exact shoes I'd been waiting for, the ones I knew were coming. True to my word, I hadn't asked for anything else. But my parents aren't humbugs. I still got the usual slew of stocking-stuffers and a couple of small surprises. I was happy. I put on the shoes right away, relieved as much as thankful. 

Too soon, Christmas vacation ends. I head back to school with confidence. I was immune to the taunting now. I had no illusions of joining the ranks of my tormentors, only to seal off their line of attack. I imagined the disappointment on their faces and anticipated it. 

Alas, I learn too late. I picked out the wrong Nikes. On my feet are just dumb ol' regular Nikes. I was supposed to have worn Air Jordans. I may as well have paper bags on my feet. The taunting resumes, worse than before. But the lesson is learned. I haven't cared about labels since.