My Boy and His Boots

A couple years back, Grandma Noreen bought Ben his first pair of cowboy boots. My side of the family is not much into “country,” but Will’s is, and there’s a really nice Western store near Noreen’s house. The boots there cost far more than I would pay for any footwear (except running shoes), but she’s their grandma, she likes to buy them things, and who am I to stand in her way?

Ben’s first boots were tan suede with sheepskin lining and lots of fringe. He wore those everywhere for at least a year—sometimes even to bed. His second pair, which he selected himself, were black and white snakeskin with gold threading and golden tips—fan-cee! Ben has worn this pair proudly as well (typically on the wrong feet), shyly accepting compliments from family, friends, and complete strangers alike. These boots get noticed!

Lately, though, the boots have become conspicuous for another, less adorable attribute: their stench. Ben has worn the boots sans socks a few times too many. He’s worn them to school, to church, to the store, and to his cousins’ house, where he invariably ends up playing in the shallow creek in their yard. Then, unwilling to allow his trusty snakeskins to dry before re-wearing them, he’s stuffed his sweaty little dogs back into the boots for further adventures. Last week, I told my friend Jean: “I think those boots could walk themselves!”

When I realized I could smell the boots from across the living room, I decided to take action: eBay! I let Ben sift through a selection of auction pix before deciding to bid on a brown pair with orange stitching. According to Ben, Anakin Skywalker wears brown boots in the fourth Star Wars movie. If Anakin imitation is motivation enough to replace Ben’s beloved boots, so be it! (I was beginning to wonder if I’d get calls home from school asking me to address the problem.)

The boots’ pungent aroma prompted my mother and sister to share stories about my own history of foot odor. Story 1: Mom recalled a Bible Club gathering in our living room, circa 1979. Mom suspected one of the children in attendance had stepped in dog doo, until her investigations led to my stinky sneaks! Ewww… Story 2: Back in the early ’80s when my sister and I used to share a bedroom, she remembered a time when she was unable to get to sleep because of the presence of a certain pair of rainbow Nike lace-ups. Despite the fact that she was already ‘nestled all snug in her bed,’ she threw off her covers, sniffed her way to the offending footwear, snatched them up, marched them down to the back door of our house, and flung them into the yard. They were that bad, apparently.

Fast forward 25 years, one eBay bid and five days later, Ben’s new brown boots arrived from Texas—just in time for the annual jazz band dinner dance at the A-Town high school. Ben had not wanted to attend, but when the boots showed up in the mail that very afternoon, he changed his mind. Nothing like a dance floor to break ’em in. Only, as it turned out, Ben was far more interested in running than dancing. He met up with another little boy at the dance, and the two of them raced back and forth at the far end of the gym for nearly four hours straight, only breaking during ballads, when I insisted they quiet down out of respect for the musicians.

The brown boots have passed their little-boy initiation—remarkably, with no blisters to report. Ben has made an appeal for keeping the old ones, though: He wants to keep the snakeskins for trips to the cousins’ creek, a concession I am willing to allow—provided the boots reside in the backyard between visits.