*Stomp, stomp, stomp* The sound of a stampede in the walls of my own home. My dad is the first one to wake up—with slippers shuffling on the hardwood floor, they don’t stay on though—he trades in his comfy, cotton slippers for steel-toed boots and out the door he goes.

*Click, clack, clank* My sister—the theatrical one, wears character heels for center stage, she wears them like a picture frame wears a photograph—to stand out.

*Clack-tap, clack-tap, clack-tap* My mom— who shows similarities in both my dad and sister style of shoe, wears a formal heeled boot. It’s black, heavier than a classic pump but different from a construction boot.

And then, there’s me. *Squeak, squeak, squeak* Like playing in a basketball game on the gym floor, my dirty Vans, that were once white slip-on shoes.

My family is like sneakers with laces, we are all individuals, but once met together or tied like the laces, we become a functional sneaker that walks among the house.

*Stomp, stomp, stomp*

*Click, clack, clank*

*Clack-tap, clack-tap, clack-tap*

*Squeak, squeak, squeak*