To help with his college expenses, my friend, Joel, sold shoes at a local department store. You would think that out of the many times we stopped by his place of employment twenty years ago, I would have bought a pair. Instead, I'm a finicky customer and probably would've left with shoes I didn't like and forced myself to wear them once or twice a year before donating them.

Decades ago and even today, I would never define myself as a shoe connoisseur. Nor do I swear to have good taste in footwear.

But there are some favorites I've had over the years, wishing only to find an exact replacement when the soles and seams are beyond the reparation skills of superhero cobblers.

Subjected to dishroom water on many nights in a restaurant as young adult, my black boxing shoes were a private joy to wear at work, or funky enough for a night on the town. Compared to taking off a pair of tennis shoes or loafers, the task of untying the black laces and loosening their grip across the top of my foot was a ritual, offering a literal sense of relief and accomplishment at the end of a day.

A few years back, I became quite excited to learn about the BlackSpot sneakers introduced by the politically-charged Adbusters organization. Their mission included showing that quality shoes could be made with fair labor. I promptly bought a pair. Stylish and with a statement - indeed!

Blackspot V2 came out shortly thereafter, an ankle-high canvas boot with an authentic used car tire tread for its sole! This was more striking, with its frayed seams running directly down the center. I found endless fun one in walking across sand heel-to-toe, step after step, to create a tire track. "How did a car drive across the beach (or through this forest)'," you can imagine someone saying only minutes behind you. Surely, the Blackspot V2 was inspired by an international spy attempting to cover any evidence in recovering an important document, jewel or hostage.

Before the Blackspot "anti-brand" product entered the bottom of my closet, I have had a challenging experience in locating a pair of athletic shoes. I've tested a few in stores, never finding the proper comfort or fit. I tried to just bite the bullet by buying an affordable but stylish pair of canvas loafers, believing that my feet only need to acclimate to a new "cut". But that's not the case. Within a few hours, these "leisure" shoes feel like the furthest thing from recreation. Maybe part of the trick to hunting and securing a pair of athletic shoes requires one to be an athlete??

So, I mow my lawn with a pair of ratty sneakers purchased 15-plus years ago. Normally I may deny perceived wear-and-tear on an object ("Oh, no, they're still in great shape!"), but I admit these things do not hide their mileage. I expect comments, or even more telling, silence! But they are darned comfortable, a second set of skin with some sort of magical pillowy cushion for me to hop and bounce with ease.

My wife, Brenda, asks me time and again to rid the house of their appearance and probable ill scent. I've used shoe polishes and cleaners on the white portions for a momentary shine. But the appearance fades quick with only a few trips around the yard. If they did not look so ragged and disheveled, I would probably wear them around town because of the comfort they offer me. I am so out of touch that their design, or whatever you may call the placement of swirls and felts and rubber, probably dates itself. "Nice polyester leisure suit, Mr. Kvale!." says the teen falsely directing praise.

I am certain I wore these sneakers (yes, let's call them that) on an international flight years ago for the sheer fact that hours on a plane without proper foot care would be a nightmare. I might gain more room if the passenger beside me takes a look down and asks the flight attendant for a seat change. But to draw attention to these particular shoes in today's security gates would not be worth the attention or delay.

Perhaps if I looked at the name brand, it could help me narrow the field when I am again ready to attempt to buy a replacement. But, the brand is somehow not the point. It was the right shoe at the right time. It can never be replaced. What if I looked at the model number code tag and put a call out on eBay? Maybe someone has been holding a fresh, unused identical pair, and is suddenly willing to part with them on an online auction the moment I begin my search...

Unconsciously, I bet the reason I instantly take these tattered articles off after mowing the lawn and hide them away in the closet is to keep them safe from my wife's grasp. Given a free minute or two, glancing over her shoulders to make sure I am not near, I am certain she will one day fulfill her desire to rid them from our home.

I think I will have to find some supporting evidence about the number of athletic shoes sitting in landfills, a slow biodegrading process.

And I will tell my wife I am keeping these shoes for the planet and our grandchildren's future! You never know - maybe one of my grandchildren will find these shoes to be extra comfortable, unlike any other.

But maybe by storing the shoes, I am ensuring their longevity through very limited use. Forty-five minutes per week -- they ought to last another 15 years!.

Come to think of it, I find myself knowingly wearing "dress" shoes while cutting the grass, surely to the amusement of my neighbors with a proper sense of fashion.

Maybe I'll put on the leisure suit when I next clip the hedges.

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Not a spokesperson and instead something World of Good fans might wish to investigate:
http://www.adbusters.org/campaigns/blackspot