Sam’s Lesson: The Value of a Good “Sole”

He didn’t wear dress shoes often, but when he did, he wore a good pair of Bass Weejuns or cordovans. He preferred quality to quantity when it came to shoes and life. I’m thinking so much about that today, five years since he left this world, five years since he let go of  my hand to rejoin Donna, my mom and the love of his life.

This year, though not nearly as piercing, the pain (which some know as grief but I refer to as an abiding love) endures. My thoughts and memories are more abundant for some reason and in many ways clearer. That may or may not be true, and I’m certain that many will take issue with my claim that the passing of time brings stability and comfort to one who suffers tremendous loss, but I’m sticking with it. I’m clearer. After five years, I am finally breathing a bit easier, inhaling and exhaling regularly without holding my breath in-between; am more forgiving of myself and others (at least I’m trying); and the internal video in my mind’s eye of Dad has been edited to project more pictures of him talking, laughing, engaging and living than of him sitting in the wheelchair smiling and merely surviving as a semblance of the man who lived and loved so actively before Alzheimer’s. Oddly, today as the reel played in my mind, it became more colorful; lo and behold, there was Sam –front and center, at my induction into National Honor Society, at my college graduation, at my rehearsal dinner, and so many other events – wearing his Weejuns.

Of course, over the years, Dad’s original Weejuns (otherwise known as penny loafers) have disappeared. (He likely had two or three more pairs, soled and re-soled) over the course of his fifty-one years of marriage to Mom.) The originals are seen here in this photo of him and his beloved canine companion, Shiner. Oh, how he cared fully and deeply for anything and anyone he loved. He held himself responsible for and accountable to their care. He took it very seriously, as evidenced by thirteen-year-old Sam’s expression – the countenance of a Jewish boy who had just been burdened and blessed with the job of being a man. This photo of that young man wearing those well-worn weejuns has left me smiling and crying and so very grateful. My dad, one of the most humble and kind-hearted men, knew the value of a good sole… and a good soul. 

His memory– all of the memories he shared with me through his storytelling and through the creation of those we made together over more than five decades as father and daughter– is an eternal blessing. I am still learning so very much about love, life, and the unquantifiable value of a good soul.

All of us should be as aware as he was of the good fortune of living a life so fully that we wear out only our soles and not our souls!