“Necesito brincar mas alto” I whined to my mother in the Spring of 1991.
Earlier that year my arch nemesis on the basketball court had boasted his plan towards a pair of expensive shoes designed to make one jump higher. His success meant a possible starting spot in the Beverly Junior High School’s starting line. The stakes were high and at over a hundred or so dollars, “The Pump” was the most coveted possession I had ever campaigned for. My mother though was stone faced as usual.
For three weeks I rallied and showcased my best behaviour and at every opportunity I brought up the logical arguments for the shoes.
When I was born, I was diagnosed with “flat feet” and a condition that if not corrected could force my ankle bone out of its proper place (or so I was told). For years, I walked with specially designed kicks that forced the bones to curve and push things back to where they were supposed to belong. The metal balls within the boots would rub at the sock and the skin though and this caused painful blisters that made me wonder at times if a life without feet could really be that terrible! Nonetheless, by the time I began my life at BJHS and discovered basketball, my feet had “normalized.”
Still though, it made scientific sense that the early disability could have robbed me of crucial “air time” and without the corrective technology of the pump within the shoes I may be robbed of a promising basketball career. When the commercials aired on the TV I always ran and dragged her to see. I tried to tell her about Dominique Wilkins and how he had won the NBA’s Slam Dunk contest the previous year and had done so with the aid of high performing shoes. I attempted to explain Junior High School politics and their relation to a high profile spot in the basketball squad.
I pleaded to her sense of economy. More expensive shoes obviously would be more resistant to wear and tear. I made promises that I did not think I could keep. Like how I would wash the family’s van every weekend or that I would help my younger sister’s with math homework that was well beyond my understanding.
In my haste I even attempted an ill advised coup where I tried to play my father against her. Sadly, they saw through my machination and I ended up going to bed without supper for at least two nights.
After all the time, I was no closer to the shoes and at school two other boys had shown up with The Pump and they were noticeably outperforming the rest of us normal boys. Even my arch nemesis seemed troubled.
—
Every Sunday after mass my family made a pilgrimage to the Montebello Town Center. My parents usually would bore us kids at JCPenney for a half hour while they looked at bed sheets they never bought and then we’d wonder into the rest of the mall and window shop to our hearts content.
I typically begged for a few quarters to spend at Tilt (the arcade) and my father would usually grant them when my mother wasn’t looking. Choices were hard within as I could play four games for a few minutes or all my quarters on something big like After Burner. I typically chose the tamer fare and on the rarest occasion go big and take to the digital skies.
On that day, after listening my father rant about the smut they sold at Hot Topic we walked past Foot Locker and I longingly looked at The Pump that sat on a revolving “crystal” pedestal. Campaigning seemed futile by that point and I figured saving my energy for trying to squeeze a few more quarters from my dad on our second loop around the mall.
Then the unexpected happen. My mother paused, her gaze locked on the shoes and with no hesitation made her way into the store.
Shivers ran down my back like a bolt of electricity and I stood stunned as she motioned to the store clerk to let her see the shoe that sat teasingly on the clear plastic mantle.
She beckoned me into the store and just before she asked the grown 19 year old to bring a pair of shoes my size she lectured me about the importance of taking care of precious things. I nodded, I paid attention, had I had a note pad I would have taken notes. I had an out of body experience and I saw myself walking into the gym the next day and proudly showing off my kangaroo shoes.
Hugo……was about to arrive!
—
I’ve tasted the fruits of celebritydom a few times in life. Like the time I was interviewed on TV after the Prop. 187 walk outs, or when I walked on stage at an International Conference. But for five week days in 1991 I reveled in the awe and admiration of my jealous peers. I wore The Pump proudly around campus and I told a few dozen times the story of my courageous campaigning and how smart and calculated argumentation had won over my uncompromising parent. I gave advice, I explained the technology within the shoe, I even let the pretty girl in home room try on my new pair and pump her way to satisfaction. I was a man on the make.
Basketball practice was a breeze. I had gained a noticeable spring in my step and on a few occasions I had touched the basketball rim with my index finger and figured that with the right Pump adjustments and my steady growth I’d be dunking by the fall. And of course, when my arch nemesis saw my new shoes I listened to his sour grapes argument that Air Jordans VI were the “newest things” and would certainly help the Bulls beat the “Fakers” in the championship. Ha…”what a looser” I thought.
—
Every Sunday after mass my family made a pilgrimage to the Montebello Town Center. We always dressed proper for church and I was not allowed to wear my new shoes for the day. My heart sank to think that I would be walking around the mall with my black Payless dress shoes and not The Pump but it didn’t seem right to push my luck and argue with my parents.
It was a fun day at the mall. My father had given me three dollars to spend at the arcade and I only spent two. I figured having an extra dollar during the week might help buy something nice off the soda machine.
On the way home we stopped at the little carniceria off Gage Avenue and picked up some carnitas, nopales and salsa for afternoon lunch. The day was slightly overcast but still warm.
That day was a good day.
—
The van door opened and in a flash my sisters and I rushed out. The car ride had been long and everyone was in hurry to use the bathroom.
I open the black front metal screen door, then undid the lock for the wooden door behind that. As I stepped into the living room space I noticed a small plastic tube on the ground. It looked like an oversize straw not longer than an inch. The ends were frayed and slick wet.
As I took another step, white pieces of a leather like material were strewn about the brownish vinyl flooring and at the far end of the room Cafeson (our dog) darted towards me.
He was thrilled to see us as always and as his paws made their way onto my chest I noticed a gorgeous half of a white shoelace resting on my parents sofa.
—
It hit hard.
It hit very hard.
Cafeson destroyed The Pump and left me with about a fourth of a pair of shoes.
—
There was no convincing my parents that another pair of tennis shoes like that made sense.
In the weeks to follow my mother bought me a pair from Payless that used lesser The Pump technology.
I never did get the opportunity to dunk the in NBA. To this day, I can still perform a fancy lay up but my dreams of air time are dashed.
—
Thank you Cafeson.
