Remembering the shoes was the token remembrance.

When I was six or seven, World War II was being fought with almost the entire world involved. Everyone contributed and we as children had to do our part. Victory gardens, chickens in the yard, recycling everything from metal to grease, collecting milkweed for life jackets, doing without. Items that were made were of inferior quality as machines were converted to make tanks, jeeps and weapons. Women at the time did now work outside the house. Their only jobs were nurses and teachers. Men went to war and women went to factories to make do to quickly learn to serve.

Anything that was shipped we did not get and I never saw bananas, chocolate, gum, butter, cakes except for birthdays. Most items were rationed meat, sugar, gas, butter which we never had and even electricity and shoes were rationed. We had ration books with a stamp on each of them and these were carefully guarded and very limited. Even though I lived on 66 acres in Connecticut we had to remember the black out curtains on all of the window each night.

I was a real tomboy, climbing trees, jumping off the dock of our barn, longing for a new bike which I knew would not come until after the war as their were no cars being built either.

I remember one pair of my brown lace up shoes which were constantly being scuffed, worn, and eventually so tattered. Finally the single pair I had simply split down the entire side. I remember my mother using her shoe coupon to buy new shoes for me to wear not only to school but also outside. At the time I had no idea and did not realize the sacrifices my parents were making for the war effort but later I finally understood all of their hard work, dedication and unselfishness.

Remembering the shoes was the token remembrance.