Everything old is new again

I have a pair of sneakers that I refuse to get rid of. I got them when I was a freshman in high school, and four years later they look as though they were worn in battle during Vietnam. Appropriately named "prison sneakers" by the Vans Company itself, they're white sneakers with three velcro straps in place of laces. I find them the most adorable, comfortable, and convenient shoe I own. My mom sees it differently

My torn up, faded, beat Vans prison sneakers.

I have too many pairs of shoes, some that never see the daylight because I'd much rather slip into my Vans. They match everything, and I don't have to be wary of puddles because any dirt or tears because making them worse only makes them better for me. My mom, willing to buy me any new pair of shoes I desire, doesn't understand why I still wear them or why I can't throw them away.

It's simple: the memories. These shoes have been with me through hurried day, lazy days, adventurous days, and lucky days. I guess you can say they've got true character and bring me luck. I've got lucky pennies that I've found on the floor strapped into the third strap. I have holes in them that I only hope get larger so I can compete with the holes in my best friend's pair of Vans.

My brand new All-Star Converse.

Coming to college, I brought them with me. There was no way that I'd be able to get to 7:30 AM classes without their quick and convenient help. I know that college being such a big change called for another new change. That's why I sucked it up and got myself a new pair of convenience sneakers: a white pair of low-top Chuck Taylors.

They too go with everything, but there are some days where I just want to know that I've got on my feet something that have trekked with me through some of the best years of my young life. I have both sneakers lying in my door room, waiting for their turn to stomp around campus.

My shoes are staying, both pairs. In with the new, and to the side with the old, but never for long. Sneakers are very personal things. In the long run, I want to either look back on my sneakers and think of all the days I spent in them. Maybe, if one day I make it big writing a novel or reporting for CNN, I'll sell them on eBay like Justin Bieber did for $1,425.