Beatle Boots and the Gamoian Curse
Enoch Peter Gamoian

It was 1964, and Beatles music was all over the radio. Nobody missed an Ed Sullivan appearance. Everybody knew the lyrics, the melodies, and what each Beatle liked to eat (Paul likes mashed potatoes & quiche!).

I loved all of it, especially those black, pointy-toed Beatle Boots. I wanted a pair, just like the ones John, Paul, Ringo, and what’s-his-name wore in A Hard Day’s Night.

I imagined casually walking into Mrs. Trenton’s second-grade classroom. Everyone would be awestruck, even Mrs. Trenton.

Mom and I set out for the shoe department at Sears.

There they were (cue angelic choir), but they didn’t fit.

We kept trying larger and larger sizes. I looked more like one of Santa’s elves than a Beatle.

It was The Gamoian Curse: really chubby feet. Something got stuck somewhere in the evolutionary process: curly hair, bright face, healthy body, strong legs, Palaeolithic feet.

Subsequent Sears visits always included a pilgrimage to the shoe department. I was resolute and relentless: the second-grade version of insanity. Hey, it had been a couple of weeks. Radiation changed people into superheroes and monsters. A growth spurt could set off a chain reaction.

Who knows?

I’ve since come to terms with my affliction. I buy shoes on the web, but I can’t just walk by a store. There are rare occasions when I’ve actually been able to cram monkey feet into human footwear.

It’s a never-ending endeavour, but it’s better than orthopaedic socks and Birkenstocks.