Getting That Right Fit

Size 7 1/2.

That’s the size of bowling shoes I got for Charlie on Wednesday afternoon, when we go to a local bowling alley with a group of kids like Charlie and their families. I loosened the laces and pulled out the shoe’s tongue so Charlie could slide his feet in and as he did I remembered how, last week, he’d had to struggle to shove and, really, jam his heels into a size 7—a size that was simply too (duh, Mom!) too small for him. No wonder he’d been on edge last Wednesday, told me “no bowling,” sat unmoving on a bench with his head adamantly down, and swiped at a plate of fries. Too tight shoes and smashed toes and trying to let me know by his asking to leave: I didn’t get it and Charlie’d gotten more and more frustrated until there was some loud loudness and much, too much, unhappiness.

It seems like, oh, a month of two ago that Charlie was a size 6. He likes to wear black suede-y slip-ons, as does Jim—I’d just ordered Jim a new pair last week and couldn’t help but be struck by the size similarity, which is pretty notable from this photo:

Talk about like father, like son. The question for me is becoming not how long will it be before I buy Jim and Charlie the same size shoes (pretty really soon) but how soon will Charlie be wearing, oh, size 13.

With feet where they should be on Wednesday, Charlie concentrated on bowling. He got into a rhythm of choosing a swirly chartreuse ball for his first bowl, and then a neon orange one (which was heavier) for the second. He was careful to insert his fingers in the three holes and throw, I meant roll, the ball with significant force a few times. He knocked over 8 pins one time. He shared a plate of fries and ketchup without incident and was still game to go swimming afterwards.

If the shoe does fit, we go for it.