A Shiny Object

very time I get my shoes shined, I think back fifty years to my father asking me if I wanted to stop for a shine. He's get up alongside me in the adjoining chair. I could never keep my shoes steady on the metal plate when they were being buffed and brushed. This caused me no end of embarrassment since his shoes always stayed firmly in place no matter how hard the guy snapped the rag. When my shoes move now, I chuckle to myself and realize how much I miss my father. His approval of me was important and I did all I could to earn it.

On walks along Pitkin Avenue on a Sunday afternoon, he would offer me all sorts of enticing things. “How about an egg cream?” might be the query. “Sure,” I'd reply. He'd boost me onto the candy store stool, order two egg creams and a pretzel for me. His drink would disappear in two or three swallows, I would sit and gulp an endlessly long time, finishing the pretzel as our walk resumed.

He wouldn't say much, but his offering and biddings speak to me now. He loved me and wanted me to have things that would make me happy. He wanted some of his values, likes and ambitions to be passed along to me. In many ways this has happened and as I get older I feel closer to the essence of the man he was. I like the feeling, but I miss him more than ever.

I stopped for a shine today ...