Memories are sacredly linked to the most mundane and
simplest aspects of life. A moment in time is captured by a look, a phrase, a
word, an object. When I think of Grandad, I think of a pair of boots. Bud
Honkomp always wore boots. He didn’t so much in the last few years and I never
adjusted to seeing anything else on his feet than black, pointy-toed cowboy
boots. In my memory, those boots weren’t always on his feet but beside his
recliner, waiting for me. They smelled of leather and I would trace the
stitching on the toe and up the sides with my fingers. Of course, these were
his ‘good’ boots. There was no way I would have done that with his ‘work’
boots. They certainly did not smell like leather alone and the stitching was
caked with dirt.
When I was young, I used those boots to be like Grandad.
There was no way I’d ever be over six feet tall, but I could walk in his shoes
for a while. I spent a good amount of time attempting mastery of those boots.
That was not the easiest thing to do when the tops of the boots were higher
than my knees. It was awkward pulling them on. The first boot was easy. The
second boot was the trick. The walk was a shuffle and I know I spent more time
on the floor trying to stand back up after falling. I distinctly remember the
carpet, too, an orange/red shaggy-like floor covering.
However, the best way to use his boots was to sit on the top
of his feet while he was wearing
them. Step after step his long legs swung me along. His stride seemed so long.
It wasn’t quite like flying, but I’m sure I got some breeze in my hair. Grandad
never said too much about his boots, unless I got a little rough with the ‘good’
pair. Then one day, I got my own pair of pointy-toed, stitched cowboy boots.
They weren’t black like Grandad’s, but that was fine. I was like Grandad.
Grandad’s boots are hard to fill. I’m sure you could go down
and get a pair of boots at the store exactly like the ones he had, but they won’t
be his. Only he could fill boots like he did. And I will always try to be like
my Grandad.
January 19, 1926 to April 7, 2012, a long life and an even longer legacy.
The following is a link to his obituary
