When I was in college, I always said that I'd make sure my future child would wear DMs. After college I found myself working in the DC poseur's paradise of pre-fab punk rock gear, Commander Salamander (RIP). A young, newly-married rocker couple came in one day, eyeing up the selection of DMs, in particular this itty, bitty, teeny, tiny pair for babies. There was no bun in the oven yet at that point, but they were ready to make the investment for any future progeny, and purchased them before leaving the shop. I have thought about them many times over the years, wondering if the marriage survived, and if the
Thinking back to Samantha's baby days, I believe she was so rarely even in shoes in her first two years (one of the "joys" of having a child that didn't walk until 21 months), that if we had been the couple to purchase the baby Docs, they would have been wasted almost immediately.
Yesterday I got myself the ultimate Mother's Day present at the Doc Martens store in Center City Philadelphia - a pair of hot pink DMs...for Samantha.
Yes, I continue to live vicariously through my child.
And I am determined that she will continue to be the little fashion maven that she is, and build some attitude that will be sure to carry her far in the world of self-identity and peer acceptance. Certainly the development of identity and acceptance will long survive the size of the boots on her growing feet, but we'll enjoy them for now and hope they'll carry her through next Spring.
Samantha's excitement over the new footwear is heartening. She's been going up to everyone, lifting one of her feet to eye-level, and demanding that they look at her new boots. This morning, her usual resistence to breaking away from the TV/piano/books that threaten to make us late for school every day, was broken by the lure and promise of being able to wear them to school. And they must be comfortable - she ran most of the way there!
Perhaps Mommy needs a pair of her own soon...