Fling the Shoe

The mind of a child is an incredible thing.

When we were very young, my childhood best friend and I invented a game. We would swing on her swing set, go as high as we could, and fling our shoes off of our feet and send them flying across the yard, and see who could send theirs the farthest. We called this game, “Fling the Shoe.” Not the most creative name in the world, but it got the point across.

It’s such a simple thing, but it held a lot of meaning for us. We would muster all our strength and release the shoes at the peak of the swing, aiming for the brink of the neighbor’s yard. It all came down to the timing – if you waited too long, you’d accidentally send it flying straight up, or do it too soon and you wouldn’t get the proper angle. There was a certain art to it, and we could play for ages trying to achieve the perfect technique. I don’t know who won more often, but I don’t think we really cared who actually flung their shoe the furthest. We just had so much fun doing it.

We spent countless sunny afternoons playing this game, and lamenting bad weather because it meant we couldn’t. In the summer, her backyard was full of our laughter, and the air was full of sneakers. Every time I see a swing set I think of those days and how much fun we had together. We weren’t glued to the television (at least, not all the time) or engrossed with computers – which there is too much of these days, even though I am pro-technology. All we had were our imaginations, our creativity, and the simple bliss of childhood friendship.

“Fling the Shoe” was such a simple thing, but it’s a dear memory. Because it meant so much more than that, and still does.

 

Take a Chance

Way back in 2008, I was sixteen years old and on vacation with my family in Massachusetts. My dad and I got into an argument over movies – he had already seen Iron Man, and insisted it was better than the film I had twice seen already, The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian. However, neither of us had seen the other film, so how could we make a determination?

My dad had no desire to see Prince Caspian, and, I’ll admit… I didn’t really want to see Iron Man. Shocking, I know, since I am such a huge fan of the MCU nowadays. But back then, I was way more into Batman, so most Marvel heroes weren’t even on my radar. But I wanted my dad to see the Narnia film more than I didn’t want to see Iron Man, so we brokered an agreement – he would take me to see Iron Man and I would take him to see Prince Caspian.

We went to see Iron Man first… and the first seeds of my MCU admiration were planted. I became a fan, and I had to admit that it was an excellent superhero film. Of course…The Dark Knight came out later that summer, which sparked my overall love of film, but Iron Man was still an awakening for me. I had to admit, even though I had previously felt no inclination toward seeing the film, I was glad my dad convinced me to see Iron Man. From that moment, I never doubted a Marvel film… well, except Thor 2.

Later, we went to see Prince Caspian. I was a bit worried that my dad wouldn’t enjoy it, because he had never expressed an interest in either the films or the books. But toward the end of the film, when the battle is taking place and the Narnian forces emerge from trap doors beneath the ground, my dad turned to me in the theater and said, “Awesome,” which proved my worries had been for naught. And once it was over, he admitted that he had enjoyed it quite a lot, and we bought the soundtrack to listen to in the car.

That summer, we both took a chance by going to see films outside of our typical realm of interest – and it paid off. And ever since, we have both recommended films to the other, and have taken those suggestions to heart, and we go to the movies together more often than ever before.

So next time you think a film might not be worth your time, go ahead and take chance. It just might work out for you.

Friendship Road

Once in a while, a missed turn can create a new adventure.

My best friend and I were once driving home from an excursion (probably from our single local book store) and had to take a detour. Afterward, a miscommunication resulted in us missing not only one, but two turns that would keep us on familiar routes.

We had two options from that point; either find a spot to turn around, or keep going. We decided on the latter, and kept riding along until we noticed the street sign for Friendship Road.

Naturally, we turned – that was a positive sign if we’d ever seen one, though we remained a bit nervous.

Friendship Road meanders a bit, in the same vein as most rural Pennsylvania back roads. Quaint homes, long stretches of gold-green grass, patches of cornfield. Picturesque farmland. This summer day was the one and only time I’ve ever been on that road, so maybe it’s changed since then. A few new houses, less countryside. But something about Friendship Road made us feel hopeful that we were on the right path.

It was a new adventure that day, lost on Friendship Road. We kept driving, and rolling along, laughing at each other’s jokes and trusting that we’d make it home in time for dinner, and that we wouldn’t be lost forever in the maze-like system of South-Central Pennsylvania rural roads. Finally, we noticed familiar ground, and the road spat us out on another back road we knew, which allowed us to make it home. We did John Denver proud that day.

We trusted Friendship Road, and it carried us home. Our initial apprehension over a missed turn resulted in an adventure that I will always remember.