Edgar Ruiz Jr. - Knock Offs 

 

Back in the summer of 1993, I was 12 years old living with my mom in the Bronx, New York. She decided that she was going to send me back to Puerto Rico to live with my dad for the entire summer. You see, when wealthy kids act up, they probably get sent to boarding schools. When Nuyorican’s act up, [audience laughter] they sent us back to the island. [audience laughter] 

 

I wasn't a delinquent or anything like that, but let's just say puberty was hitting me really hard, and my mama wasn't feeling me. [audience laughter] She divorced my dad when I was two, and we left Puerto Rico shortly after for New York, leaving him behind. As a child, I barely remember my pops. Like, the earliest memories I have of him are long distance phone calls for my birthday, and sometimes on Christmas. 

 

Now, you can say that the summer of 1992 started off on the wrong foot, literally. The only pair of sneakers I took with me to Puerto Rico were stolen out my suitcase at the airport. So, I had to wear flip flops in the mountains for a few days [audience laughter] until my mom, who was in New York, forced my dad to get me some sneakers. Now, this is probably a good time to let you know that at the age of 12, I was already 6ft, 1 inch tall, 230 something pounds, and I wore a size 12 sneaker. [audience laughter] Not a lot of size 12 sneakers in the small town of Cabo Rojo, Puerto Rico, where I'm from. [audience laughter] 

 

So, after unsuccessfully walking out of three discount shoe stores in town without a sneaker, my dad was heated. He knew he was going to have to take me to the mall and actually spend some money on me. He was mad. Not me though. I was excited. I'm a true city kid. We love sneakers in the hood. On my block, what you wore on your feet represented where you were at in the food chain. You wore some busted looking kicks. The kids were going to eat you alive. 

 

So, when we got to the mall, I went straight to the Nike section, picked out some Air Force ones, [audience laughter] brought them back to my pops. My dad had a serious face on. He looked at the sneakers, he looked at the price, then he looked at me, and in Spanish, he said, “No.” [audience laughter] Y'all speak Spanish? [audience laughter] He tell me to get something cheaper. So, my next logical step was to get some Reeboks for like $29.99. 

 

But before I could even get to him, he was shaking his head emphatically. By then, I could see the frustration on his face. I barely knew this guy, so it was kind of intimidating. I gave up rather quickly and I allowed him to pick out whatever sneaker he wanted. [sighs] 

 

Now, I don't really remember the name brand of sneaker he chose, because I think I repressed it. [audience laughter] But I'll never forget how ugly these sneakers were. They were like a taupe-ish, tannish, grayish, brownish. [audience laughter] And they were complete knockoffs of the Reebok Pumps. Y'all remember the Pumps? They had a little ball on the tongue. Your sneak would fill up with air. [audience laughter] Those sneakers were so dope. These Topi knockoffs would not. They cost him $13.99. [audience laughter] And I was so disappointed he didn't buy me those Nikes. 

 

I was 12 years old, so him not getting me those sneakers obviously meant to me he had no love for me. I was gossiping with my mom on the phone that night and I was telling her, “My dad is so cheap. Mom, I promise you, when I have my own kids, I'm going to buy them the most expensive sneakers that I could afford to show them that I love them.” Those are lies now. [audience laughter] Mm-hmm. Yo, my two- and five-year-old wants some sneakers. Yo, they better get a job. [audience laughter] 

 

Even though my dad didn't have love for me, I definitely had love for my father. [audience applause] 

 

So much so that I actually fell in love with those ugly sneakers, just because he bought them for me. And when I got back to New York, I literally wore those things till they ripped apart. People made fun of me for wearing them things. I didn't care. My dad gave me those sneakers, and my dad never really gave me anything. Those ugly things hugging my feet were the closest I was going to get to a hug from my dad. And I held onto them as long as I could. 

 

After that trip, I went once or twice as a kid, but then I took a long hiatus from Puerto Rico. I didn't go back till I was 19 years old. By then, I was a high school graduate, college sophomore, actually, I was working, so I had a little bit of money in my pocket, so I went back to Puerto Rico wearing name brand everything. [audience laughter] It was the early 2000s, so I was rocking them shiny Sean John shirts, [audience laughter] super baggy Pelle Pelle jeans. [audience laughter] But most importantly, I was rocking Jordans. Not just any Jordans either. We talk about the shiny patent leather Air Jordan 11s. 

 

 If you don't know anything about sneakers, just know that the Air Jordan 11s are on top of the food chain. I was showing off. I was trying to show my dad the man that I was becoming without his help. But I realized a few things on that trip. I realized that I was completely wrong about my father. My dad wasn't cheap. He was just struggling. He lived most of his life living paycheck to paycheck. I looked it up. Minimum wage back in 1992 was like $5.25 cents, if he was lucky to be making that in the factory. So, those $13.99 that he spent on him ugly sneakers must have been like half a day's work for the dude. And I was embarrassed and I was humbled. 

 

But it was at that trip, at 19, that I finally laid the foundation for a relationship that I always wanted with my dad. And the more I got to know about him, the more I got to know about myself. Ironically, several weeks prior to that trip, I wrote this psychology paper on nature versus nurture. When I wrote that paper, I was on the side of nurture, because I thought I was a product of my mama, a product of the streets of New York. But then I got to know my dad, and I realized I had a lot more of Cabo Rojo, Puerto Rico coursing through my veins. And it was scary. 

 

I wasn't raised with this guy, but there we were, liking the same types of music and movies, personal philosophies that we shared, little things, from the way we signed our names the same, to even the type of girls we liked. All of them. [audience laughter] We liked them all. [audience laughter] It was scary. It was like looking into a mirror for the first time and seeing your reflection. I love my dad. 

 

Last summer, I finally allowed him to be my father. Now I want to tell you things have gotten better for the guy, but we've probably seen some of the news coming out of Puerto Rico, political unrest, earthquakes, Hurricane Maria. And that was before the pandemic. But my dad is a survivor. He does what he has to do to make ends meet. I try to do as much as I can for him, but he's one of these prideful Puerto Ricans that rather live in a house with half a roof and no power than to take a hand out. But I do what I can. I have to. He's a part of me. 

 

Not too long ago, we were hanging out. I was on vacation, and I noticed that his sneakers was looking run down, like I seen better sneakers hanging off power lines in the hood. [audience laughter] So, I tricked him. Took him to the mall, the same exact mall he took me to when I was 12. And I told him pick out whatever sneaker he wanted. And after a 20-minute argument, because he's hard headed just like me, he finally picked out a $20 pair of no name brand sneakers. And I turned to him and in Spanish I said “No.” [audience laughter] That day, my dad walked out with a fresh pair of Nikes. And I know he loved them, but not as much as I love those old Topi knock offs. Thank you.