The Stained Shoe

When I was leaving Karachi for Washington this time, my father gave me a pair of shoes. They are a really nice pair, green leather Hush Puppies loafers. They are very comfortable too, and I can wear them practically everywhere.

Today I wore them to work. I think I should wear them to work everyday. Do you know why? Is it because I can make a good impression on my boss? No, they are not that special, at least to other people. In fact, there is a rather large stain on the left shoe that refuses to go away no matter how much it is washed. I should stop trying to wash out that stain.

No, that stain is really special. Now of course, it is not special to anybody else, but it is very special to me. I really like that stain. I should look at it everyday. Do you know what that stain is? I bet you cannot even guess.

It is my father’s blood. And it reminds me everyday of all of the sacrifices that my family as a whole and my father in particular have given so that I can be where I am, so that I can go where I want to go. Now do you see why I should not try to wash the stain?

Thanks to the efforts of my family, I was able to get almost anywhere I wanted to in the world. It is only justified that the shoes that take me where I want to go bear the mark of those who sacrificed in order to allow me to walk as I can now. So long as I have the humility to look down, I will always remember how I got where I am today and why I am going where I want to go.

(The above is a slightly fictionalized entry.)