Everyone else has pairs and pairs of fashionable shoes. Why am I always different?

As told to Devorah Grant

I

t’s the Veja sneakers that are really the last straw. We have our school’s end-of-year, three-day hike coming up and I need another pair of shoes. Unfortunately, Mom and Abba think otherwise.

“We’re sorry, honey,” Mom says, leaning forward over the array of dirty cereal bowls, “but we just don’t think you need another pair. You already have four pairs of shoes in perfect condition.”

“But everyone has two pairs of sneakers for the hike!” I explode, making the milk vibrate in the bottle. Abba sighs from the doorway. Mom sighs at the table. I pull back my chair and storm out.

I march my way past the piles of baby toys in the hallway, up the stairs which desperately need a vacuum (we don’t have a cleaning lady), and through my bedroom door. I feel like screaming. Everyone else has designer knapsacks. Everyone else has real Shabbos earrings. Everyone else has pairs and pairs of fashionable shoes. Why am I always different?

I fling my closet open and stare balefully inside. I have some nice clothing, I admit, as I finger the lines of summer outfits. I have pretty dresses and fashionable two-pieces, plus some cool maxi skirts which flutter and fly in the wind. Mom always takes me shopping at the beginning of each season, and Abba gives me money to buy something nice for Yom Tov. But still, it’s not the walk-in closet that Sara Devora has, or the designer labels Peshy wears from head-to-toe. Their parents would buy them another pair of sneakers. Then again, their parents have more money than we have.

Ugh. Money.