Christmas in my house was always an exercise in overcompensation. My parents were both middle children and felt slighted their whole lives so they spent way too much money making sure their kids never felt that way at Christmas.
There were three types of gifts in the Nelson household:
1. Gifts from family and friends. They went under the tree as soon as they arrived.
2. Gifts from my parents. These were placed under the tree closer to or on Christmas day itself.
3. Gift Out in the Open Christmas morning. Santa’s doing.
So Christmas, 1990, I was in the seventh grade, and the only thing I wanted was a pair of Nike Airs. Nike Airs were the first shoes I remember costing $100, and the were the ultimate symbol of awesome. The word Nike, over the word Air, elevated you from pretender to contender, just like Michael Jordan himself. And you had to have Nike Airs, not just Nike’s. If you just wore Nike’s that meant your parents were poor and you were stupid. Well, they weren’t poor, poor. They just didn’t love you enough to keep you from looking like a total idiot in front of the entire school.
$100. That was a lot of money for a pair of shoes, but I had focused all of my gift receiving power on this one, cherished item. I didn’t want socks, I didn’t want chocolate, I didn’t want anything else. And tell Aunt Geri, and Uncle Lenn, and Grandma, if they’re going to give me anything, just give me money toward these shoes. Please. For the love of God. These shoes were going to change my life. Women would line up to be with me. Men would nod their heads as I walked down the hall. People weren’t going to think Davey Nelson, Converse anymore. When they thought of Davey Nelson, they would think of Michael Jordan himself.
I could already see the shoes in my closet. I could already smell the shoes. I was even looking forward to the day my shoes died so I could pop that air bubble thing on the side.
Christmas morning, 6am, my sisters and I were up. Like a pack of rabid hyenas ready to tear any gist that stood in our way. Our parents tried to take pictures, but eventually they relented, and there under the tree it was. Something the size of a shoe box, wrapped, but not there before, which meant it was from my parents, which meant they wanted credit, which meant, this was good. I picked it up and shook it and it- these are shoes. And I ripped open the package, all of my dreams about to come true, the women, the fame, the fortune, and there they were, my Nike… my Nike…
Oh My God! They just got me Nike’s!
I looked at my parents and they were making the “do-you-like-them” eyes.
“These are Nike’s. These are Nike’s,” I stammered in disbelief.
“Yeah we got you what you wanted.”
” I wanted Nike AIRS! These are just Nike’s. I can’t wear these. They’re the stupidest shoes I’ve ever seen.”
“Well, we’ll just take them back-“
“When next month? I hate these shoes, I hate you guys. You’ve totally ruined my Christmas!”
And I went to my room and locked the door.
My parents were not happy with me. Not only had my behavior ruined their Christmas, but it had also exposed their on;y son as a spoiled little bitch.
So that’s why today, I only wear Chucks. Because they’re cheap, and they’ll never go out of style. There could be a nuclear holocaust and there would still be Chucks. Worn by little tiny cockroaches.
Merry Christmas. Thanks for reading.
David Lee Nelson
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