A Frog in My Shoe

The little boy calmly walked into the kitchen, looked up and said, “Mom, there’s a frog in my shoe.” It being a school morning, the mother was multi-tasking: washing the breakfast dishes, packing lunches, and trying to decide what outfit to wear to work so the comment took a minute to registrar. 

“Son, stop playing. I told you, get your shoes on. We’re going to be late to school.”

Holding up the black and white tennis shoe, the little boy pleaded, “I can’t. There’s a frog in my shoe.” The serious of his voice cause his mother to stop her morning tasks, turned around and take the shoe from her son. What she found wasn’t what she expected. 

Now the title of this story may seem like we’re gonna travel back to the old familiar street not so far away called Flamingo where my three brothers, The Sister, and I spent seven magical years growing up. But if you thought that, you’d be incorrect. All we have to do is travel back to this morning to find the answer of who said such a silly thing to his mom. After all, frogs are not normally in people’s shoes – feet are in people shoes. 

So, the question is, Dear Reader, how did a frog get in a little boy’s shoe? Well, for that answer you just need to keep reading to the end of the story because if I tell you now, this would be the shortest story I’ve ever written. And we can’t have that now, can we?

Our mom’s screams came from the basement. We thought the Laundry Monster she kept down there was attacking her, so my three brothers, The Sister and me ran to the open door and peeked down the stairs. Mom ran up the steps, got to the top, looked at all of us and said, “Which one of you boys put a live frog in your pocket!?”

I knew when mom was mad, and she was about as mad as I’d ever seen her. But this wasn’t the first time mom had found strange things in our pockets like Roly Polies, rocks, dirt clods, bottle caps, Jellybeans, and an assortment of toy cars. The list is very long so mom should not be surprised at anything she found in our pockets. And yet, she seemed to be. Standing in the doorway looking down at the green frog, she asked again, “Whose frog is this?”

Before I could answer, and admit it was mine that I’d forgotten about, Fredrick the sticky frog jumped out of mom’s hand and onto The Sister’s dress. Watching The Sister run around the room had all of us boys laughing so much we couldn’t hardly stand up, that is until mom started yelling at us to get the frog out of the house. 

It took a while to chase down The Sister, and even longer to capture Fredrick, but eventually the frog was let go safely outside. Afterwards, I admitted to the ownership of the frog and explained that I’d forgotten about Fredrick because of the dirt clod battle with Down the Street Bully Brad and his gang of three. Mom finally started laughing, gave me a hug and went back to the basement to continue her never ending fight with the Laundry Monster. 

So, who was the little boy from the start of this story? 

The teacher I work with came in this morning and retold the story of how her fourth-grade son had found a frog in his shoe he had left out on the back porch. “At first I didn’t believe him, but when he showed me, sure enough, there was a green frog in his shoe.” She laughed and said she would never forget the incident.  

I was only seven at the time mom found Fredrick the frog, and I still remember that day sixty-one years later. Mom never forgot about Fredrick and each time she recalled the incident, she smiled. 

So, with Mother’s Day right around the corner, I have the perfect gift, and it’s free.

Skip the flowers.

Skip the candy.

Skip the homemade trinkets.

Give Mom something she will never forget. Give her a little green, sticky frog in your pocket.

She’ll scream.

She’ll chase you.

She might even question every decision she’s ever made. And years from now…

She’ll still be telling that story.

But please…

Make sure it’s not real.