My wife grew up walking with her family in the evenings. And not a walk around the block, a walk around town. And that’s literal. They would literally walk from one end of town to the other and back. For fun. Seriously.

And so, she has a deep desire to pass on that tradition with our family. Fair enough.

As for me, I generally take the logic of Willy Wonka, “If the good Lord had intended us to walk, he wouldn’t have invented roller skates.” But I’m a sport. Not to mention, I like being married. So, I choose to walk.

Well, before getting to the end of our street I had serious doubts as to whether this walk was a good idea. Yesterday we got our kids new Crocs for summer. They like them so much that they wanted to wear them on what promised to be a long walk. We encouraged our oldest son to wear his sneakers instead. Nothing doing. He was sticking with the Crocs. Fine.

But our youngest son didn’t get a choice. We pryed his Crocs from his feet and put on his socks and sneakers. That fight set the tone for the first 300 yards of our walk. In that distance, I think we threatened to go home, threatened to carry him (he hates that), and threatened his life more times than we can remember.

We just wanted a nice family walk….was that so wrong?!?

Once we got the youngest one going in the right direction he was a champ. No complaining or whining after the first 20 minutes of complaining and whining.

Then it was my oldest son’s turn to break down. Remember that strong suggestion we made for him to put on sneakers? He was regretting that after the first half mile or so. After flipping the Croc straps to the front and walking slower than my grandmother who doesn’t walk at all, he gave up on the Crocs all together. Off they came and he inched along the asphalt street with his tender soles of his feet causing him to grimace with each step.

Did I mention that my wife and 3 other kids were so far ahead they were out of sight? Ah, what a nice family walk this was–if we had only been 2 families.

Then my superhero instincts kicked in. He and I stopped, sat in someone’s driveway and I took off my socks, put them on him, and put my sneakers back on. I wasn’t even laced back up and he was gone. He took off like lightning in his Crocs and socks. Looking quite German, but no longer in pain.

And then it was my youngest daughter’s turn to complain. She too had chosen her Crocs and she too was now regretting that choice. Thankfully, her personality is such that you can talk her out of being in pain. She just flipped the straps and was good to go. Slowly, but going. However, I don’t think it was the pain that was slowing her down, but instead the thought that if she walked through the neighborhood too quickly, someone might be deprived of catching a glimpse of her glory.

When all was said and done, we had a walk to remember. Or forget. Whichever.

I’m just glad to be home.