Inopinatum (in-o-pi-na’-tum): The expression of one’s inability to believe or conceive of something; a type of faux wondering. As such, this kind of paradox is much like aporia and functions much like a rhetorical question or erotema. [A paradox is] a statement that is self-contradictory on the surface, yet seems to evoke a truth nonetheless [can include oxymoron].
I couldn’t believe he thought he needed another pair of shoes. He had 659 pairs of shoes. He kept them in a pile in the middle of the living room. They reached the ceiling and they smelled. Oh, there were boots mixed in the pile too. I asked him why he had so many shoes. He said, “Son, they are my legacy to you and your sister, although they’re all men’s shoes. Each pair is held together with a clothespin, and their demographic information is recorded on their soles. When I’m gone, your life’s work will be curating the collection. I have provided you with a healthy stipend to manage the shoe collection—to care for the shoes and secure a site for a shoe museum, where you’ll feature a different shoe style each month, starting with the Flip-Flop, which pushes the envelope on what a shoe is. You’ll also sell Shoe-verniers: t-shirts, key rings and socks emblazoned with the museum’s name: ‘Sole’s Inspiration’ named after the Righteous Brothers famous song.”
I was only 12. It was a lot to take in. But, I found the whole thing fascinating and wanted to help fulfill my father’s dream. Time flew. I did my PhD in industrial studies. I wrote my dissertation on the displacement of cobblers by machine-made shoes. My studies mad me angry and also, I felt saddened by the cobblers’ downfall. As a part of my studies I had an internship at a 1960s-style hippie leather shop. I made belts, purses and briefcases. I had a colleague named Selwin who made the most beautiful and comfortable shoes. He was short and had pointy ears. We would joke that he was an elf. Then the whole thing crashed. All my designs had been stolen and reproduced by machines. Selwin disappeared.
My father died, so, when I graduated from UCSB I went to work setting up “Sole’s Inspiration.” Instead of putting out the Flip-Flop as the first monthly shoe, I put out a pair of Selwin’s beautiful handmade shoes. We had our grand opening, and who should walk through the door but Selwin. He was a mess. There had to be a place for him at “Sole’s Inspiration.” I set him up with a shoe concession in the back of the museum that would draw people in. We built him a replica of a cobbler’s shop with a workbench, a stitching pony and all the accoutrements of a real cobbler’s shop. He was overjoyed.
To my great surprise, the museum is a great success. One night I had to go beck to the museum—I had left my cell phone. I looked in the back and there was Selwin and some friends who had the same elfin look. They were smoking clay pipes and playing cards at Selwin’s workbench. I gave Selwin a wave and headed home.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)
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