The Candies that Broke Me: My First Pair of Heels in 1981

A nostalgic coming-of-age memory about growing up Pentecost in the ’80s, slim feet, and the shoes that made me feel grown-up.

I remember my first pair of “high” heel shoes. They were Candies, the classic wood-platform slides, way back before Candies became a fashion powerhouse. It was Easter of 1981, the spring after I turned sixteen, and in our house, new shoes only came twice a year: Easter and back-to-school. Our Easter shoes became our church shoes, and our school shoes carried us through the year.

Because my foot was a triple-A width, finding shoes was always a challenge. We had to shop at Monday’s Shoe Store just to find pairs slim enough to fit. So by the time I was sixteen, finally being able to wear a “regular” size shoe felt like freedom.

And that Easter, I got to pick Candies. I had been waiting forever, thanks to my parents’ strict “sixteen-year-old rule” for everything from shaving my legs to dating to, apparently, wearing heels. I used to grumble, “Just wait till I’m eighteen — I’ll pick out my own stuff!”

Those shoes were everything to me. To be honest, the heels weren’t even that high — maybe two, two-and-a-half inches — but they felt like skyscrapers. They had smooth wood soles, a single strap across the toe, and nothing around the heel or ankle. And the sound — oh, the sound.

When I walked, the leather slapped softly against the sole of my foot with each step, and on hardwood floors, those Candies made the most satisfying little click-clack rhythm. I felt grown-up, sophisticated, unstoppable.

Until I wasn’t.

Me and Mom went to Batesville to the Sterling’s Silver Five and Dime department store. It was an old building with creaky hardwood aisles and several steps up into the store. When I reached the stop step, I suddenly lost my balance and went down — hands, knees, pride, everything. Like a flash, I popped right back up, trying to act like nothing happened. But an elderly gentleman passing by chuckled and said loudly, “Them high heels done it again!”

Mortified, I looked around for my Mom, for rescue. Instead, she just kept walking, never looking back, like she didn’t even know me. Traitor.

Embarrassed or not, I wore those Candies for years. Some people remember their first love with fondness. Me? I remember my first pair of high-heeled shoes — Easter 1981, hardwood floors, and all.

😂 Option 2: Lighthearted & Playful (if you want to end with humor)

If you thought tripping in Candies was humbling, wait till you read about The Haircut Before Labor — proof that motherhood starts with equal parts chaos and laughter.