Me and My Nikes

In sixth grade, Nike shoes were the hottest thing around. It seemed like everyone had a pair of the classic white leather Nikes with the bold red swoosh. At the time, they cost around $40, which was a lot of money back then. I knew it wasn’t something my family could afford, but honestly, I wasn’t all that bothered by it. I had plenty of friends, and life was good. Plus, I wasn’t even sure I liked the red swoosh—I always thought they’d look better in light blue, which happened to be my favorite color.

One day, my mom and I were shopping at Sears Surplus, a store known for carrying items that hadn’t sold at the main Sears department store—sometimes because they were defective, sometimes just because they were a little off. We often went there to see what bargains we could find. As I was walking down an aisle, something caught my eye: a pile of shoes stacked on the bottom shelf, all mismatched and jumbled together. I glanced at them, then stopped in my tracks and turned back around. I had seen something light blue.

Curious, I walked over to the pile and picked up a pair of shoes. To my surprise, they were Nikes—just like the ones all the kids at school were wearing. But these were special. These Nikes had a light blue swoosh instead of the usual red, just like I had imagined wanting. I felt like I’d won the lottery. I checked the price, and while they weren’t cheap, they were definitely less than $40. I ran to find my mom and showed her the shoes, excitement bubbling up inside me. I don’t remember if I had to beg or not, but we left the store with the shoes in a bag and a huge smile on my face.

When we got home, I couldn’t wait to tell my best friend, Mary Jo. I called her up, eager to share the news. But her reaction wasn’t quite what I expected. “Well, that’s good,” she said, “but they’re blue.” I was taken aback for a moment and quickly told her that blue was my favorite color—that’s exactly what I wanted. She responded, “Well, you’re going to stand out.”

After we hung up, I thought about what she’d said. Was standing out a bad thing? Was she hinting that I might not fit in with the other kids because my Nikes were different? I was still excited about my new shoes, but now there was a small seed of doubt. The next morning, as I got ready for school, I felt a little uneasy. My mom noticed something was off and asked me what was wrong. Not wanting to dampen her joy, I shrugged it off and mumbled something about being nervous for a math test. I couldn’t tell her I was worried about the shoes—shoes she had likely sacrificed something important to buy for me.

As I walked to school, I kept telling myself it was going to be okay. After all, I loved my new Nikes—they were exactly what I had wanted. But as I approached the school’s front doors, the nervousness crept back in. I took a deep breath and walked inside, trying to remind myself that I was great just the way I was, even if I wasn’t fully convinced.

In class, I wondered how long it would take for someone to notice my shoes. Eventually, I had to get up to use the pencil sharpener. As I walked back to my desk, a girl named Karen called out, “Hey, you got new shoes!” I froze for a second, unsure of what she would say next. Then, to my surprise and relief, she screeched excitedly, “Oh my goodness, they’re blue!” Her enthusiasm was contagious, and suddenly, all the kids wanted to check out my shoes. Our teacher, Mrs. Erler quickly told everyone to sit down and promised they could look at my shoes during lunch break.

During the math test, I could feel my classmates’ sneaking glances at my feet, trying to catch a glimpse of my now-famous blue Nikes. And as I sat there, I realized that maybe standing out wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Looking back on it now, I realize how much value I placed on what other people thought of me, even if I wasn’t always aware of it. At the time, I thought the right clothes or shoes could make or break how I was perceived. But those blue Nikes taught me something more valuable than fitting in—they reminded me that being different isn’t something to be afraid of. Sometimes, standing out for who you are, or what you love, is the best thing you can do.

Those Nikes were more than just a pair of shoes—they were a lesson in confidence and self-acceptance. I learned that I didn’t need to be just like everyone else to feel good about myself. In fact, embracing the things that made me unique, like my favorite color blue, was something to be proud of. That day in sixth grade was just the beginning of understanding that fitting in doesn’t always mean blending in.