Mister Rogers' House Shoes, Or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Footwear.

I used to hate shoes.

I know, I know. Blasphemy... especially coming from a guy who boasts a private collection of over 60 pairs. But I can explain.

It started out in 1st grade. I'll be the first to admit, and even brag about the fact that my family didn't exactly have a stockpile of money in the bank. So what's a mom to do for a kid who wants to look like all of the other kids sporting Reebok pumps and Air Jordans when it's hard enough deciding which utility bill to pay that month? Simple. You put on your darkest pair of sunglasses, a big hat, take a deep breath, and do the walk of shame into your nearest discount "shoe" store.

It's not her fault. After all, they looked like shoes, and, deceptively, the name of the business had the word "shoe" in it. You put them on your feet, lace them up, and walk around. But what mom was buying me was not technically footwear, mostly because you couldn't really wear it. I mean, you could, but in the same way that you could wear a breadbox or a salmon fillet. Just because you stick something on your foot doesn't make it a shoe.

So after years of cardboard, vinyl, and cheap leather exploding on the playground, exposing my toes, and leaving dark black rubber marks all over the basketball court, I hated shoes... or at least what I thought were shoes. I was destined to live my life in this vicious cycle. Spend $20 on something that hurts to walk in, looks ridiculous, and disintegrates on contact with cement. Curse the idea of footwear. Go back to P*&#^$$ (censored for vulgarity) for another pair and start all over again. That would have been my life... had it not been for this:

Sure, I had seen it a million times before growing up, but at some point it hit me. Why does Mister Rogers love his shoes so much? Why would he devote an entire 3 minutes of his program completely to changing his shoes? When I got home all I wanted to do was take them off and forget they existed until the next morning's dreadful schedule made me put them on again, but Mr. Rogers had a separate pair of shoes just to wear in the house! The thought crossed my mind that maybe there were shoes out there that could make me happy. Maybe not every pair of sneakers were evil, but in fact, some were downright neighborly.

So I did it. One day I bit the bullet, spent an extra couple bucks on nice a pair of real leather, real shoes (I still have them, 15 years later and counting), and I've been hooked ever since (I'm serious about the 60+ pairs.) Just goes to show you what a little TV magic can do.