I used to try to wear my pop’s shoes.
They were always too big and wide, and worn thin in places, but they looked like good shoes, the kind you could walk all day in and your feet would never hurt. I’d slip ‘em on and clump the dog for a walk. I couldn’t run in them, or even walk well, but it seemed easier and more fun to slip his on, than first, to find mine, then unlace them, re-lace them on my feet, and go.
In my own …