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GREENSBORO — Jim Dollar keeps them piled in his closet, just a mass of red, green, orange and blue.

And purple, too.

Every day, he’ll pull out a pair. He uses black for Sunday. He is a minister and all. But he chooses any other color — even pink or yellow — simply on a whim.

It’s his Crocs, that chunk of a plastic sandal that seems so 2008.

Dollar has nine pairs. Nine.

Ask him about it, and he’ll just laugh and clap before launching into a lengthy explanation, awash in his laid-back lingo of Louisiana.

As his wife says, he’s “just being Jim.”

“Everything is an entry point, and if you have eyes, you’ll see it,’’ he says. “These Crocs — these brightly colored Crocs — can’t be ignored. It catches your eye even if your eyes don’t want to be caught.

“You see, when I walk down the street, I see people’s eyes go straight to my feet, and I’m in the business of catching people’s eyes and telling them about the importance of paying attention.’’

Then, leaning forward, sounding as earnest as a Sunday morning, he delivers the kicker.

“It’s all about what they want to do with it.’’

Wait a minute. A Croc is just a Croc. It’s our ubiquitous symbol of our Southern summer, a fashion badge for any local kid at any local pool, park or chalk-painted sidewalk.

But Dollar? He’s 64. He’s a photo-taking, essay-writing father of three and grandfather of five who answers to the name “Popster’’ and loves telling people this: “We’re all on this journey, and we have to find our own way.’’

And Dollar does it in Crocs. Here’s how he sees it.

Dollar first wore Crocs out of protest.

It started three years ago when President George W. Bush signed a law suspending the constitutional right of habeas corpus — or the idea of approaching a judge to say you don’t belong in prison — to help what he called his “global war on terror.’’

Dollar didn’t like it. So, he bought his first pair of Crocs, and whenever he ran into anyone near his church, the Presbyterian Church of the Covenant, he’d hand them a card that read: “We are all victims of a ringmaster who has made clowns of us all.’’

His Crocs, of course, were red.

Today, he just likes them — even if a few of his grandchildren don’t. He wears them because they’re comfortable, and they’re his statement about the importance of opening our eyes.

That’s why he loves photography. He carries his camera everywhere. For him, it’s all about seeing, capturing and talking about what is meaningful.

You don’t have to agree. That’s the worst thing about religion, Dollar says. To think you have to be one big happy family. Just be open and honest to understanding that everyone sees the world through a different lens.

So, Dollar wears Crocs. That’s his conversation starter.

OK, feel free to laugh. His grandchildren sure do. They know “Popster’’ is a little off because of his love for wearing shoes that look like water skis on his size 11 feet.

And feel free to poke fun. His wife, Judy, his college sweetheart, does. Today, she works as a tax analyst — “I put numbers in boxes,’’ she says — and she has said to her husband a time or two: “If it weren’t for me, you’d float off and never come back down.’’

But Dollar is a product of small town Louisiana, of parents who tried to make their world right.

Dollar’s dad, a school board member, pushed for equality in schools; Dollar’s mom, a homemaker, helped troubled teenagers get back on their feet. Together, they opened their home to a man who was gay and women who were homeless.

Their son is simply following their footsteps.

In his Crocs.

Contact Jeri Rowe at 373-7374 or jeri.rowe@news-record.com