These Boots

These boots. They started out small, pink and clean. They did not begin as boots, actually, they began as soft cloth socks knitted to look like boots; fitting snugly over the soles of her little baby feet. Little did that tiny baby know the symbolism and meaning behind the pieces of thread keeping tiny baby toes warm. Those small pink socks were not just foot warmers, they were the beginning of a girl’s love affair with boots, freedom, and being alive. The boots that carried, supported, and became her lifestyle over the span of 21 years and many more to come.

These boots. Over the years they grew, stretched, and got a little dirtier. They were still pink, but they were made of leather with flowers stitched on the sides. The flowers were sweet and innocent, growing without a care in the world. Trudging through the dirt only made their roots a little deeper and stronger. The soles saw the trails of many mountains, the peddles of bikes, the stirrups of a horse, and the banks of a river. They kept their pink color, although it slowly faded over time. Standing toe to toe with unicorns and magical giants, the possibilities were endless and the adventures were many.

These boots. From running through fields, to sitting in the closet. They were embarrassing. They were neither cool nor popular. No other boots were seen roaming the long and cold hallways of the high school. The support which they contained was abandoned for momentary and seemingly important gains. The innocent days of unicorns and pink flowers were long gone, sitting tiredly and dusty behind the fashionable clothes in the closet the boots lost their life and meaning. They no longer ran through the fields. and lived freely. They were confined. Confined by the dark walls of society which kept them from living life and breathing in fresh air.

These boots. A few years later, after collecting dust and sitting unused, once again saw the light of day. This time they were not pink at all, they had no flowers on the sides, and instead of wood soles which made dancing around easy, they had practical black rubber soles. Life was not about flowers and dancing, life was messy and hard and required the usefulness of sturdy black rubber. There are other boots on campus too; all of which are carrying the weight of backpacks full of books and the weight of the world at the same time.

These boots. After awhile, even the practical rubber soles start to wear down. Enduring the heat of the summer, the cold of the winter, and the hills and cracks on the road takes its toll. Maybe practicality and simply surviving is not the answer after all. Maybe there is a place for pink flowers and wood soles. Maybe dancing and running through fields is not immature and unnecessary. Maybe it is completely necessary.

These boots. A part of a heritage, a history, a way of life. They are not just shoes; representing more than just a practical protection for feet. They are hard work, sweat dripping from your brow and falling asleep with sore muscles. They are loyal, true and classic. Friends will come and go, love will live and die, styles will come and go; the boots will remain constant.

These boots. After living and loving, learning and falling, the boots get worn, dirty and tired. But while they continue to wear down, the original flowers on the side of the boots continue to grow in depth and beauty. There is a place for practical black rubber soles, and there is a place for smooth wood soles. It is a balance, a circle, an understanding, a confidence, and a knowing.

These boots. These boots are not just boots. These boots are life.