MARY ANN FITZMORRIS / L’Observateur / January 22, 2000

My son has just inadvertently impressed everyone at school, not with his kindness, or his good grades. Everyone is talking about his shoes.What is so amusing about this is that we didn’t even know what they were talking about. I had to call a friend who is up on every cultural trend forher to explain this adulation. I, as a head of household and gatekeeper ofthe culture, am so ignorant of these things that, until recently I thought St. John’s Wort was something that could and should be removed in one ofthose hushed “procedures.”It all began innocently enough. A few weeks ago, my son ruined his lovelysuede oxfords he wore to school. Once the mud came off, and they wererained on a few times, they still smelled like ditch. So we ditched them.On the way to a Christmas party the child literally had no shoes, so we stopped at Payless for a back-up pair, in case I couldn’t muster the courage to hit the mall on Christmas Eve. I couldn’t, so it’s a good thingwe stopped.

I had to talk my skeptical son into a pair of really swell looking shoes.

They were large and clunky, with big, contrasting colored stitching around the perimeter of the soles. They were unusual, but totally cool. He was notconvinced.

After I outlined his limited choices, he realized that it was either those or a pair that required gold medallions and an open shirt to complete the look. Since my son has no chest hair yet, and since time was running out, Ibegan to lobby hard.

He relented and we left with these very distinctive shoes. Unbeknownst tous, we had just acquired a fake of the most coveted treasure, at least currently, of the over-privileged kids set.

My son came home the first day back at school and told me a story about how a ridiculous number of kids asked about his shoes, including big kids! I thought it really peculiar that big kids were interested in his shoes, until he explained these conversations took place in the restroom, where they all take the maximum time before returning to class. Therewas plenty of time to devote to the subject of my sons shoes.

All the kids had the same question: “Are those Docs?” Not knowing what they were talking about, he said, “Sure.” They followed his affirmationwith, “Aws!” When my son returned to his classroom, one of his peers who is a true consumer of all popular culture, had to delve further into the subject.

“Are those Docs?” she asked. “Yeah.” he shrugged. “Real Docs or fake Docs?”she persisted. “Real, I guess.” He shrugged again, without a clue. “Cool,”she approved.

When my son came home and told me this story, I called the friend who had long ago convinced me that Pokemon was not Gumby’s sidekick.

She proceeded to educate me. “Docs are lingo for the hot shoe, DocMartens,” she said. I inquired, “Dr. Martens?” She shuddered audibly. “No,no… not Doctor Martens. Nobody says it that way. Doc Martens, shortenedto Docs.”Her same-age son heard her half of the conversation and said, “Docs!, hey, cool!” Then he shouted to my son through his mom’s receiver, ” But don’t wear those to school, man, the playground is too muddy.”So my son must appear to his classmates as way cool; not only Docs, but Docs for school where they can get muddy on the playground. AWS! Nowonder my son’s schoolmates are so impressed.

Somewhere in this conversation my trusty and knowledgeable friend explained that these Docs are so cool because they are soooo expensive.

They average a hundred dollars a pair! I can’t even rationalize spending half that for myself! Docs as school shoes? Now I’m not sure if I want people thinking I’m nutty enough for my kid to wear a hundred dollar pair of shoes to school. Oranywhere.

While I think about it I’ll go back and get a few more pair. They’ll getmuddy on the playground, you know.

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