It started out well.
But magical doesn’t always remain magical.
Maybe I should explain . . .
When Dad was three, his Mom and Dad came home from their monthly
Lethbridge shopping trip with something special.
A pair of rubber boots just his size.
Boots that came without any pesky laces.
Overjoyed at being able to don them himself, he quickly did
so. Then marched triumphantly around the house.
“Those are for walking in water,” his mother pointed out. Then
she pointed out. “Outside.”
Excited at the prospect of being able to step in water
without worrying about spoiling precious shoes, Dad hurried to comply.
He stood in the yard for a moment, glancing quickly about,
looking for a currently boy-less puddle of water.
In the garden where his mother had been running the
sprinkler, he found exactly what he sought. A shiny pool of water just the
right size.
Eagerly, he made a dash for it.
For a second, he paused at the edge, letting the anticipation
of the moment . . . erm . . . wash
over him. Then he stepped into the water.
Oooooo!
He moved further. The water came a little higher on his new
rubber boots.
For a time, he kept his eyes on the magical, world-altering
foot gear as he splashed around. Then he stopped and watched the ripples slowly
still. The pool become calm.
And it was then he noticed that there was a small,
blond-haired boy staring back at him out of the water.
He shrieked and spun around, intent on finding either his
mother or the nearest far-away place as quickly as possible.
But toddler feet, new boots, mud and water in combination
don’t make for graceful, gazelle-like moves.
Hopelessly tangled up, Dad landed backside-first in the puddle. Where
his amazing, magical, life-changing boots promptly filled with water.
A few minutes later a nearly hysterical, decidedly soggy, mud
and tear-streaked boy appeared at the back door of the house – boots sloshing
with water.
I don’t know what his Mom said. I expect something soothing –
over the chuckles – as her small son poured out his story.
And his boots.
