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The Honolulu Advertiser
Posted on: Sunday, October 14, 2001

Family Matters
Shoes optional for taro farmers in training

By Ka'ohua Lucas

Some people I know have a shoe fetish. The Imelda Marcos syndrome, I call it.

They have a pair of shoes for every outfit they own. Magenta high heels to go with their Mamo Howell. Turquoise pumps to accentuate the Puamana jumpsuit. Melon-colored sandals to complement the Manuheali'i sun dress. And, of course, we cannot forget the standard black or beige pumps that are part of every woman's wardrobe and go with every outfit.

With the onslaught of athletic footwear commercials, shoe store companies are building multimillion-dollar businesses. You would think that my 7-year-old would be keen to follow all the fashion hype. But he is not the least bit tempted.

"Sweetheart, where are your shoes?"

"Oh, oh," he says searching our van, hopeful of finding a pair so he won't have to bear the wrath of Mom.

The same conversation ensues every day.

"Uncle Bruddah Joe, how are you going to play football barefoot?"

"That's easy, Mommy. Actually, I'm in training."

"Training for what?"

"To work in the lo'i (taro patch)."

The only time my son will ever begrudgingly wriggle his lu'au feet into a pair of shoes is through sheer force.

Otherwise, his preference — in terms of footwear — is slippers, and even then it's a struggle.

If I had earned a dollar for every pair of rubber slippers I bought for him over the span of his short life, I could be a millionaire, or on my way to becoming one.

I've bought black, blue and two-toned slippers on sale. I've invested in rubber slippers with the little nodes to massage his achy feet. I've even gone so far as to buy slippers stenciled with honu (turtle), his favorite sea creature.

"Eh, kua 'aina (person from the country), where are your slippers?" I ask.

"Mmmm, I don't know," is his most frequent response.

Or, another: "I think I forgot them at home."

My favorite is, "Someone stole them, Mommy."

If I am at home, I trudge outside to help search for the missing footwear.

"What is this?" I ask as I salvage a weather-worn "Locals Only" zori from the yellow ginger patch.

Giggle. Giggle. "Oh, that must have been the time I kicked my slipper into the air. I was wondering where it went."

Mind you, I am not opposed to bare feet. In fact, up until the age of 12, all I usually padded around in were the soles of my feet.

We had an option at school: wear sandals with straps or go barefoot. Needless to say, I chose the latter.

My family also has found many excuses not to wear slippers.

Bare feet are useful for crushing cockroaches. (My husband refers to his right foot as "roach-killer foot.")

Bare feet are good for determining weather conditions.

My older son enjoys hanging one foot out the passenger window as I careen down the highway.

In my daughter's case, bare feet are extremely useful for tiptoeing over discarded items that have accumulated on the floor of the house.

"Bare feet are especially good, Mommy, to squish in the mud, like the lo'i," my 7-year-old reminds me.

So, instead of an assortment of colored footwear in his closet, you will find one pair of brand-new, unused cowboy boots that were bought for him when he was a toddler.

The one good thing about having a child who refuses to wear anything on his feet is the money saved on footwear I don't have to buy. When he becomes an adult, he may never need to wear shoes or slippers.

At least, all the mahi'ai (farmers) I know would agree with him about the benefits of bare feet.

Ka'ohua Lucas has an 18-year-old daughter and two sons, 11 and 7. She has a master's degree in education curriculum and instruction, works as a counselor for Native Hawaiians at Windward Community College and writes curriculum with a Hawaiian cultural focus. Her column appears here every other week.