We gifted him a pair of Red Wing’s when he started as a plumbing journeyman. Five-and-a-half years and three soles later, he retired them for a new pair of the exact same boots. Well-worn slippers in disguise, they more than earned semi-retirement status, scaling back to part-time duty – usually on the driveway at the end of a pair of legs sticking out from under the chassis of the current car project. My son stepped into those workers as a day-old high school graduate and stepped out of them nearly a Master Plumber, with but a half year of classes left to go. A lot happened in those boots over the years: driving, crawling, wading, climbing, creeping, slithering, bending, sloshing, shimmying, mucking, scuffing, and just plain living.
Good boots are friends that withstand the toughest of times. They let you wear them out and bear the scars proudly, wrapping you in soft kindness all the while.
Can’t say enough about that – it’s all there in the picture.
There’s the journey.
There’s the honor – right there.