There’s some kind of bell they’re ringing in my psyche. Perhaps my first set of step-siblings wore them? I remember everything so perfectly: the way the strap flipped up; that brass ring in the center; the way they looked with full-length, bell-bottomed corduroys. And then there was the slap they made on pavement: whap, whap, whap!
I don’t feel regretful that I missed the 60s, though every now and then, sharp little shards of that decade stick in my skin and I wonder exactly where they came from. Hand-me-down memories from hand-me-down clothes?