As I sat on my living room floor rubbing leather conditioner into my boots the smell of shoe-polish took me back about 30 years. Sitting on the floor of my parents living room floor, next to the fireplace, newspaper spread out in front of me as I polished my dad’s dress shoes. Dipping the cloth into the little tin full of thick black ointment. He wore suits for most of my childhood. Later on he was more casual but still in slacks and dress shirts. Sometimes a tie. But the shoes were always dark leather dress shoes. Practical but nice. Polished but not too shiny. And he never wore them on the weekend. And he never wore them in the evening. But Monday through Friday every week of the year – dress shoes. I started polishing his shoes at such a young age I can’t even recall when I began. It was a part of my childhood. It was a part of my youth. It was a part of my life. Even when I grew into a rebellious, sulky, asshole teen I would still sit on the living room floor and polish his shoes and then my own.

I hadn’t given it a thought in years, but now waiting for the conditioner to dry so I can shine my boots I know that it’s a memory I will never let go…