I don't think I could have ever lived without my Red Ball Jets; they were the best shoes ever. There was nothing like them when they were new; soft and springy, they permitted me to bounce higher than any ball, conquer the deepest jungles and run with the swiftness of a gazelle. Their super-pavement grip gave me secret powers that in the recesses of my imagination, no standard shoe-wearing mortal could match.
When my Tennies got old and worn, and the soles became smooth and slippery, climbing trees was a bit more difficult. A few times I slipped on the monkey bars and felt the concrete a little more than I should when jumping from high places. Even when holes began to emerge, I was loyal to my black hi-tops. The sides got worn from using my feet as brakes on my homemade go karts. When the laces got old and frayed, (much like myself now), and the rubber half-moons at the toes began to separate, these shoes were my faithful companions. They were light and carefree compared to the clunky leather and 8 trillion layers of show-offy design that comprise the shoes we, and kids wear today.
No game of army or baseball could ever have been successful without my trusty hi-tops. No school race, dirt hill ascent, or backyard wrestling match could have been negotiated, conquered or won without the support of these shoes. Soon the low-cut tennis shoes became popular, and I had those as well, but I preferred my hi-tops that displayed that white ball of glory on the ankle. All hail the Red Balls, and those of us who wore them!
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