"Brogans" (Origin Irish Gaelic): a heavy, sturdy shoe, especially an ankle-high work shoe.
The recent snow and harsh winter has brought back memories of long ago growing up in Southwest Virginia. I've had time to sit by the fire and read, write, and meditate. In the following short story, I have combined two very vivid memories. One standing inside a window, looking up into the sky during a heavy snow storm. Try it sometime; it gives the sensation of floating upward! The other of classmates' reaction when they saw that my shoes "brogans" were patched with brown cardboard.
by Betty Collins Brown
January 12, 2010
BROGANS
The snow fell in huge flakes, floating down gently past the window where the little girl stood looking upward. Already it was becoming a winter wonder land, transformed from dirty gray to a wonderful blanket of white. It was rare indeed to see a blanket of pure white over the landscape normally covered with black coal dust. She was 8 years old and smarting from an incident that had happened on her walk home from the old Baker School House that day. Her shoes (as were the shoes of the other siblings lucky enough to have shoes) were hand- me- downs and not adequate to keep out the snow. These shoes in particular were what her mother called “brogans”; each had a hole in the bottom at the midfoot where the foot first touches the ground when walking; each hole had patches made of brown cardboard. They were wet and soggy. She had walked ahead of several other children who lived down the road not knowing that with each step, those behind her could see the brown cardboard poking thru the holes in her shoes. She heard them whisper; then she heard the laughter and she knew she was the object of their ridicule. She was proud; maybe too proud, and her mother had always said that pride was a sin. It was just that their snickering had hurt her "sinful" pride. She slowly picked up the pace of walking until gradually she realized she was running – running home and refusing to listen to their remarks and their laughter.
At home, supper was already on the table and each chair was already taken. She could smell the fried potatoes, pinto beans, sauer kraut, corn bread and the always overpowering smell of sliced onions. (Her mother grew lots of onions because they kept well over the winter months). She was breathing heavily from running and proudly told her mother how she had just handled the classmates who were making fun of her while walking home from school. Her mother said “Well, what in the world did you do?” “You didn’t get into a fight did you, Betty Sue?” “No, I didn’t get into a fight, but I didn’t take any crap off of ‘em either!” “I ran off and left ‘em.” To Betty Sue’s surprise, more laughter all around the table from her Daddy and siblings who thought she had surely taken a stand and beat the crap out of her classmates. She didn’t understand their reaction; she thought it was the only thing to do and she wanted to be recognized for keeping the peace and not starting a fight. The humiliation of being made fun of again this time by her own family was more than she could bear. So as it is a Collins trait, she went to the window to pout.
By now the snow was accumulating fast. And there was magic in the snow as she stood at the window, magic that gave her the sensation of floating upward, upward into the unknown, leaving behind all those who laughed at her, made fun of her. She imagined it would take her to a place where Jesus lived, beside a beautiful river with green grass on each side where white sheep were always grazing. He would take her in his arms and comfort her as he did the little children she had seen in pictures in Sunday School. If she could just open the window and step out and float upward everything would be all right. At this point, her mother came to her side, still smiling, and explained that they weren’t making fun of her; it was just that from the tone of her voice, they expected something very different. She told her she did do the right thing; that God blesses those who try to keep the peace and that the classmates who lived down the road probably had holes in their shoes, too, that she just didn’t see those holes because she was walking in front of them – not behind. She assured her that God loves all people, especially poor people, and that after supper and after the dishes were washed, that she, along with her brothers and sisters could put on their brogans and old wool socks for gloves and play in the snow with the classmates who lived up the road and also wore brogans with holes in the bottom with patches made of brown cardboard.
It was enough to take away the sting of ridicule; it was enough to make a cold day feel warm; it was enough to know how love feels; it was enough.
________________________________________________________________
The recent snow and harsh winter has brought back memories of long ago growing up in Southwest Virginia. I've had time to sit by the fire and read, write, and meditate. In the following short story, I have combined two very vivid memories. One standing inside a window, looking up into the sky during a heavy snow storm. Try it sometime; it gives the sensation of floating upward! The other of classmates' reaction when they saw that my shoes "brogans" were patched with brown cardboard.
by Betty Collins Brown
January 12, 2010
BROGANS
The snow fell in huge flakes, floating down gently past the window where the little girl stood looking upward. Already it was becoming a winter wonder land, transformed from dirty gray to a wonderful blanket of white. It was rare indeed to see a blanket of pure white over the landscape normally covered with black coal dust. She was 8 years old and smarting from an incident that had happened on her walk home from the old Baker School House that day. Her shoes (as were the shoes of the other siblings lucky enough to have shoes) were hand- me- downs and not adequate to keep out the snow. These shoes in particular were what her mother called “brogans”; each had a hole in the bottom at the midfoot where the foot first touches the ground when walking; each hole had patches made of brown cardboard. They were wet and soggy. She had walked ahead of several other children who lived down the road not knowing that with each step, those behind her could see the brown cardboard poking thru the holes in her shoes. She heard them whisper; then she heard the laughter and she knew she was the object of their ridicule. She was proud; maybe too proud, and her mother had always said that pride was a sin. It was just that their snickering had hurt her "sinful" pride. She slowly picked up the pace of walking until gradually she realized she was running – running home and refusing to listen to their remarks and their laughter.
At home, supper was already on the table and each chair was already taken. She could smell the fried potatoes, pinto beans, sauer kraut, corn bread and the always overpowering smell of sliced onions. (Her mother grew lots of onions because they kept well over the winter months). She was breathing heavily from running and proudly told her mother how she had just handled the classmates who were making fun of her while walking home from school. Her mother said “Well, what in the world did you do?” “You didn’t get into a fight did you, Betty Sue?” “No, I didn’t get into a fight, but I didn’t take any crap off of ‘em either!” “I ran off and left ‘em.” To Betty Sue’s surprise, more laughter all around the table from her Daddy and siblings who thought she had surely taken a stand and beat the crap out of her classmates. She didn’t understand their reaction; she thought it was the only thing to do and she wanted to be recognized for keeping the peace and not starting a fight. The humiliation of being made fun of again this time by her own family was more than she could bear. So as it is a Collins trait, she went to the window to pout.
By now the snow was accumulating fast. And there was magic in the snow as she stood at the window, magic that gave her the sensation of floating upward, upward into the unknown, leaving behind all those who laughed at her, made fun of her. She imagined it would take her to a place where Jesus lived, beside a beautiful river with green grass on each side where white sheep were always grazing. He would take her in his arms and comfort her as he did the little children she had seen in pictures in Sunday School. If she could just open the window and step out and float upward everything would be all right. At this point, her mother came to her side, still smiling, and explained that they weren’t making fun of her; it was just that from the tone of her voice, they expected something very different. She told her she did do the right thing; that God blesses those who try to keep the peace and that the classmates who lived down the road probably had holes in their shoes, too, that she just didn’t see those holes because she was walking in front of them – not behind. She assured her that God loves all people, especially poor people, and that after supper and after the dishes were washed, that she, along with her brothers and sisters could put on their brogans and old wool socks for gloves and play in the snow with the classmates who lived up the road and also wore brogans with holes in the bottom with patches made of brown cardboard.
It was enough to take away the sting of ridicule; it was enough to make a cold day feel warm; it was enough to know how love feels; it was enough.
________________________________________________________________