There's a First Time for Everything

I'm getting older by the day.  I'm in my sixties now but it wasn't always so.

I was 5 once. 

And the other day I was reminded of that fact.  I was leaning over to tie my shoes and realizing that it was a bit of a chore.

My back hurt and I couldn't easily reach the laces because of a combination of factors; too much belly and not enough flexibility.

I've been working on the belly part trying to eat less crap and taking the stairs at a brisk clip rather than the escalator.  It's working.  I went down a pants size and I feel better but, nevertheless, the shoes weren't as easy as they used to be.

And that reminded me of the first time I tied my own shoes.

It was the spring of 1956.  I was living in Woodmere on Long Island.  Woodmere is one of "The Five Towns" (Lawrence, Cedarhurst, Woodmere, Inwood and Hewlett if you were wondering...) near New York City.  It's a bedroom community and my parents and my late sister had moved there from Manhattan to escape the city on behalf of country living.  My father was able to keep his boat in Macy's Channel near Far Rockaway and my folks had a vibrant social life. My Dad left his bike at the train station when he commuted into the City.  That kind of place.

They had torn up our street, Brower Avenue, in order to replace the sewer and water lines so there were big (to me) piles of dirt everywhere.  The perfect environment in which to get dirty and play.

One of the neighborhood boys, who was much older than I, probably 8 or nine, was in the street when I came out to play in my dungarees and Buster Browns.

He was very cool as I remember because, for one thing, he wore sneakers.  They were black U.S. Keds and were the higher type with the round rubber label on the side.  He alse wore dungarees (Dungarees...not Blue Jeans.  Dungarees...!) and he had on a nondescript tee shirt.

But what made him especially hip, in my eyes, was the fact that he could tie his own shoes.

I was solely dependent upon my parents for this necessary task.  Never mind food and shelter.  Shoe tying was the thing I was fixated on at that moment.

So there we were.  Two little boys sitting in a pile of dirt talking about our shoelaces.  

He told me to pick up the two laces, one in each hand.  I followed intently. 

"Put one over the other and then pull the bottom one through the hole," he said.

I did exactly what he told me to do.

"Pull them tight."

I did.

"Make a loop with the left one and take the right one and swirl it around the loop and under the swirl and pull the loop of the second lace through and pull them all tight and even them out and make sure they aren't uneven so one will drag on the ground and you could slip on it or snag it on a tree and fall down."

What, I thought?  What the HECK ("Hell" was not available to me then.  My vocabulary has since expanded to include other, more colorful, words that I wish I had had at my disposal at that time...) are you talking about??

I did what he said and failed.  He explained it all again and demonstrated on his sneakers.  I tried again and, lo and behold, after a few mistakes, I succeeded!

Whoopee!  I could tie my own shoes!  I proceeded to tie and untie them a hundred times and
couldn't wait to show my mother.

She, no doubt, saw it as a triumph but certainly not as the liberating event that it was to me.  Today, laces, tomorrow the MOON!

But the reminiscence about my shoelace tying Baptism made me think of other "firsts."

The first time I rode a two-wheeler (my father pushed me around the yard on my "new to me" blue bicycle with the skinny tires endlessly until I finally stayed up by myself.  I had never had training wheels.  I went from trike to bike in one afternoon!)

My first baseball glove.  I was a terrible player but had a cool Red Schoendienst autograph model which I still own...

My first kiss...in the bullrushes at the beach while my mother played backgammon nearby. If she had only known...

My first movie...Disney's "Lady and the Tramp."  C'mon...give me a break.  It was in the 50s.  Life was different then. 

Etc. etc., ad infinitum.

There's a first time for everything and those firsts are priceless moments never to be repeated.

But be careful.  Memory Lane is a great place to visit but I wouldn't want to live there.  As Don Henley famously sang, "Those days are gone forever. I should just let them go but..."

Yeah...but.