I have a confession to make. No, my hair is naturally this luxuriously grey and sparse, this don’t come in no bottle. What I must confess is that both of my children wear Birkenstocks or “hipster crocs” as I like to call them. You know, those odd sandals made in Germany that they ship across the pond as payback for WWII. Not the flip-flop, strap between your nasty lookin' toes variety that you get to shuffle around in for about three days a year in the stone’s throw from Saskatchewan kingdom of sleet and snow.

In bygone years, the first person I knew that willingly wore those cork and leather abominations (with socks of course) was my college biology professor. He was an ornithologist, that is, he spent his entire career studying birds. Not my cup of bird bath water, but I guess we all need something to spend our careers doing. I suppose when you study birds for a living you never really take the time to look down and question your choice of footwear. He was an odd duck. My apologies Dr. Tallman, I meant, “odd Anas platyrhynchos.”

Actually, I believe his ill-chosen footwear may have been my saving grace one very well timed icy, cold, blustery day. He was on his way to class to hand back the exams we had completed the week before, an exam I was quite confident I had scored a fair distance to the right of an “A” on. He arrived in class about ten minutes late, looking more disheveled than normal, with an arm full of rumpled up exams. He explained that he had slipped and fell in the parking lot, and when he hit the deck, Birkenstocks up, the exams had scattered in the wind and snow.

He wasn’t the most athletic individual, but he had managed to chase down a few of them. One had a tire track across it, and several had Birkenstock stomp marks on them. As he read the names off of the exams he had rescued, myself, and several other students that had dismal futures in the field of ornithology, hoped our exams were fluttering far away from campus. As it turned out, mine had in fact evaded the “Birkenstock stomp”, and I was given another chance to demonstrate just how little I knew about birds. The fact that I had inadvertently laughed out loud when he told the class what happened probably didn’t help my cause.

Back to my “Birk” wearing children. Thinking back, I came to the conclusion that every piece of clothing I’ve ever wore could only be described as “snappy”. So I’ve racked my brain retracing my children’s upbringing, trying to find an explanation for their poor taste in footwear. I guess there is that “Zubaz” fashion error I made…oh yeah, and those cut-off jean shorts I was so fond of. As the familiar ode to all that never should have been worn goes, “but they’re so comfortable.” Sometimes comfort should be overlooked.

Without things like Snuggies and Chia Pets under the tree we wouldn’t have anything for next year’s white elephant exchange. Gifts that keep giving, but are never truly received. I guess there are worse things than Birkenstocks, besides our children need something to regret when they get older.

I suppose this is my last column of the year…or is this December a leap month…I can’t keep all this stuff straight. Anyway, I would like to wish you all a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. Safe travels, near and far, and remember to resist telling your in-laws how you really feel about them, because they feel the same way about you.