Dear Chacos.

Dear Chacos,

I saw you once.

Years ago.

I was younger. You were too.

You looked … rope-y.  You left the toes all bare and open to roots and rocks.

I was wearing Keens.

They were close-toed and I was close-minded.

Arrogant, even.

(I’ve been known to have opinions.  Strong ones.  And verbal ones.  Written ones too.)

I climbed aboard the Keen train and we’ve been chugging along together.  Me and my husband and our six children.  And the many friends we’ve dragged along for the ride.

Yes.  I’ve written letters to Keen.

Blog posts.

Love songs.

And King Keen has never acknowledged my voice.

I’m not bitter.

I’m a little song bird in a forest of louder and brighter music makers.

And then.

There was a pair of leftover shoes.

Yes.  Left-behinds.

A faded, purple-strapped, slightly dog-chewed Chacos.

They sat on the lost and found shelf for one year.

We wanted to give the original owners a fighting chance.  The Chaco brand will set you back a Benjamin Franklin face after all.

At the one year mark, all bets were off.

I slid off a pink and grey Keen and strapped on a faded purple Chaco.

Size 9.  Wide.

Close to my size.

Nearly right.

Comfy.

I wore it home.

And then I switched them regularly between my pink Keens and my orange Keens.

One summer passed.

(This is a long love letter.)

And then the next summer my Keens sat almost completely untouched in our dark, sad closet.

My faded, a little too big, rescued from lost and found and still dog-chewed Chacos nearly never left my feet.

(I’m loyal like that.)

Hikes.  Kayak trips.  Tubing trips.  Camping.  Church.  Grocery store.  Wedding.

And so.

This summer is approaching.

Three faded options in my closet – Keen, Keen, Chaco.

All at least five years old.

A sale at REI.

Coupled with my membership dividend.

And a decision.

Keen vs. Chaco.

(Hear me out – I still like Keen.  Especially for the bulk of my shoe-wearing children – closed toe is good for a four year old tree-climbing, soccer-playing adventurer.  This is a love letter, after all, not a hate epistle.)

But there I was.

Money in hand.

Options before me.

One shoe to decide.

And.

Dear Chaco,

I pick you.

I pick you in size 8, wide – perfectly proportioned for my flat-footed self.

I pick you.

In classic black double straps.

If I could, I’d pick you in pink and purple double straps too.

I like you best with the toe strap.

I pick you

for Sunday in a skirt

and Saturday on a trail

and Tuesday running errands

and Wednesday teaching co-op.

Chacos.

I pick you.

For your style

and your comfort.

Your good looks

and your flexibility.

Dear Chacos –

this is my love letter to you.