Despite my brief stint of city living during my college years, I remain a small-town girl at heart. There are hundreds of reasons why I choke up when I hear Mellencamp’s “Small Town” or Springsteen’s “My Hometown.” I love the patriotic celebrations, like the one currently going on as Tamaqua Remembers celebrates the 150th anniversary of Memorial Day, and our annual Veterans Day parade.

A soft snowfall over Depot Square Park, while Santa sits in the gazebo greeting apple-cheeked children, is a scene that could have been captured by Norman Rockwell. Spending summers sitting at the Bungalow, watching my kids think they’ve invented the same crazy dives that we used to do off the high dive is yet another tradition that warms my heart.

But, without a doubt, the single biggest advantage of living in a small town is the number of times that my bacon has been saved by our small-business owners. Case in point: Last week was the boys’ annual band concert. A has played in several different bands over the years, and I know that the standard dress code is black dress pants and a white shirt. Sometimes a tie is also required. This is also the only occasion during the year that we need black dress pants, since his standard school uniform is either navy or khaki pants.

The first year that he was in band, I was the proud parent who planned out his outfit meticulously. That was the last year that happened. For the next several years, I usually bolted out of bed the morning of the band concert in a panic because I knew he didn’t have black pants that fit him. Finally, last year, with both A and G in the band, I got smart, and when I found black dress pants on sale, I bought one pair in every size. Since both boys will get use out of them, I could justify the expense. This year, at Christmastime, both boys also had white button-down shirts as part of their holiday ensemble, and I made sure to buy them a little big, anticipating concert season. Both boys are also the size of a regular necktie, so even if their stash was a little small, I could finally delve into the Wonderful Husband’s stash of ties if I was desperate.

Finally, in my fifth year of being a band parent, I had it all together.

I should have known better. The day of the band concert arrived. Anticipating a late work day and knowing that the WH and all the kids had a dentist appointment between school and the concert, I got up early and pressed the boys’ outfits. I laid them out neatly on their beds, including socks, undershirts and belts.

I sent strict instructions to the WH and explained everything to the boys, hoping that everyone would be spit shined and ready to bolt out the door the minute I got home. Then, I got to the shoe rack.

G was in luck because he had the shoes that A had outgrown. But A had nothing except his school sneakers and his gym shoes. Somehow, between Christmas and now, his feet had grown another size or three. There was no way he could even just get through a few hours in shoes that were too small, and even if he could have, that would have left G without shoes. So, my perfect plan came crashing down.

First thing I did was check all the shoes that he’s currently wearing for their sizes. School sneakers, size 12. Gym shoes, size 10. Baseball cleats, size 11. Hunting boots, men’s XL. This was not helpful. Each shoe “fit him perfectly” but I seriously doubted that I was going to find dress shoes made by Under Armour, Nike or Muck Boot in a comparable size. I had a momentary flash of brilliance when I told him to try on his dad’s shoes, but, unfortunately, A’s feet, while they may be as long as the WH’s, they are only about half as wide. Stuffing those shoes with newspapers was starting to look like a pretty good option.

At work, my helpful co-worker P suggested heading over to the big box store and just buying a few pairs in different sizes. While that idea had its merits, that would also mean taking the time to return all the pairs that didn’t fit. At that point, I had my second flash of brilliance for the day.

As soon as A was dismissed from school, I sent him a text (thanking Santa for his brilliance in bringing this kid a cellphone) instructing him to stop at Charles X. Blocks, our town’s men’s store on his walk home from school. I told him to walk in and explain that he needed a black dress shoe. If he was able to find the right shoes, I told him I would then call the store and pay for them over the phone. Within a few minutes, he was hooked up with a nice set of dress shoes, on sale no less, and we were back on track with the master plan.

We’ve seen too many of these small mom and pop stores close down over the years, and with that we’ve lost way too much customer service. Watching A walk confidently in his new wing tips, proud of his selection and the fact that he completed the transaction almost entirely on his own, I was grateful that our town can still support this kind of business, and this business, in turn, supports our families.

Liz Pinkey is a contributing writer to the Times News. Her column appears weekly in our Saturday feature section.