The Boy-Kickers

I loved my shoes from the minute they met my feet. I found them in a little shop tucked around the corner over by the Boulevard. They were on the bottom shelf on the far left hand corner. There were so many other colorful shoes shouting for attention that day; I almost didn't see them sitting there in their quiet dignity.

These were sensible, heavy-soled shoes. Sturdy leather. Boy-kickers, really. They were the kind of shoes you might own once in a lifetime. They looked good with jeans, and more than passed muster with a pair of tights and a skirt.

My boy-kickers tromped me through the streets of Boston and NYC. They traipsed the halls of power in our nation's capitol. They traveled by moonlight, and they embraced the light of day. They took me through snow and even splashed in a puddle or two.

They held my feet steady while I delivered speeches, formed partnerships, and closed deals. They carried me where I lacked the courage to go. And, they helped me walk away from things that really needed to be left behind.

I used to suspect that shoe shiners everywhere recognized how much I loved those boy-kickers of mine. From their street corners and airport terminals, they would beckon my shoes to step up to their stands where they would treat them with the holy ritual of polish and gloss. They understood the value of maintaining shoes you can trust.

Shoes are not unlike the friends who matter the most to you. Trustworthy. Easy

Last winter my boy-kickers died. I wore them until I could no longer ignore the fact that the beloved leather had broken loose from its seam on the instep of my right foot. It flopped as I walked and let the winter slush eat my toes.

I should have thrown them out.

But like a friend, I was reluctant to let them go. The shoes reminded me of the few people in life who have become intimates. You break them in. They wear well. And even when they, like my boy-kickers, start to fall apart and let in the cold, it is hard to toss them away.

New friends and new shoes are always a gamble. They look shiny on the shelf, but they can chafe your heel. Crimp your get-a-long. And, there is always a chance that they won't go with everything. Instead of pitching out the old and replacing it with a fresh new style, I tend to find a different place for these "sole/soul" mates to rest. One that doesn't matter so much, but where I can always find them.

I am thinking about making my boy-kickers into a geranium planter this summer. Maybe a handsome pair of bookends. Would bronzing them be too much?