White and blue Nike Air Sneakers

When I was a kid, we were not well off. Frankly, we were quite poor. My mother busted her ass to provide my sister and I with pretty much anything that she could, she tried, she really did. Thing is, that mean, ghetto kids don’t appreciate the efforts of poor kid’s parents.

I still remember my first days of Junior High school, this was when I would initially become exposed to name brand sneakers. In Mrs Rogers homeroom class, I remember getting flamed for my Action III skippy sneakers. I tried to find a picture, but these were some off brand, hood sneakers during the 80s. I can’t find any pictures of them. But they were white, black and blue, and they had a velcro strap at the front that said “Action III.”

Mama bear tried to help me out, and then she got me a more expensive pair of sneakers called Jox.

I walked into gym class wearing them, and this kid named Anthony, an overgrown, goofy kid came over and said, “What sneakers you got?” He saw the Jox and said, “Oh man, those are cool.” Then he looked closer and realized they were Jox. He said, “Are you trying to trick me bro? I thought those were Reeboks. Jox?” Then he mushed me and everyone started laughing. Yeah, sorry mom, the Jox didn’t work either. Also, fuck you Anthony, you overgrown, goofy fuck!

I remember seeing my buddy Hector with some really nice looking Nike’s in the cafeteria. I learned then that these were the “in” sneakers and I started to beg my mom to buy them for me. They were like 40 or 60 dollars at the time, and that may not sound like a lot today, but back then it was. Especially when we were pretty broke. She said we couldn’t afford them many times.

After sometime, I don’t know how, but mama bear got the dough and got me those sneakers. I have never forgotten that, and I am eternally grateful to mom for taking care of us back then. Lord knows that not all moms did that for their kids.

So now the kids were no longer making fun of my skippy sneakers, but having them introduced a new threat… The threat of getting your sneakers stolen. Ahh, the joys of Growing Up Bronx, your damned if you do, and your damned if you don’t.