These shoes are stronger than bronze

Baby shoes and baby steps. Each step I take this week is reminiscent of a toddler—wavering, clumsy, uncertain. Walking with invisible hands is new, no guardrails to catch me if I lean past 45 degrees. But with each step I’m learning. You bronzed my shoes to freeze that moment in time when I learned to walk. My soft laces became stiff. Everything more solid. Ironic that I now try to freeze our moments in time—always reverse parenting. If I could walk to you now I would. My shoes are stronger than bronze. They’re made of determination and they’d hold up.