Posts Tagged ‘Story’

The Dusty Golf Shoes

When I was younger I wrote an essay called the Dusty Golf Shoes. In celebration of Father’s Day, I would like to rebirth the high school essay in honor of my dad, who I affectionately call “Daddy-Honey.”

The Dusty Golf ShoesGolf Shoes

My siblings and I always loved to play outside. Whether it be HORSE on the basketball court, or skating with our old worn out, blue roller skates on the bumpy drive way, being outside was the best. One hot summer day in particular I remember pulling out our old roller skates. Matching the sizes was always an issue, with six to seven different pairs that we had on hand.

On this day, my sisters and I had all the skates pulled out of the shelf that was in the garage. When I went back to get the rest of them I noticed another pair of shoes I had never seen before. They looked like they were once white, but a thick layer of dust covered their leather face. They were smashed from living under the weight of roller skates for who knows how long. The tassels on the top of the shoe looked chewed, maybe from a mouse or another critter that found the leathery texture tasty. I pulled them out and dusted them off a little. They were big. Much bigger than my feet and the laces were stiff and brittle. I took them out to my sisters who were already putting on their skates.

I ran around to the back yard where my mom was planting some pots and pulling weeds out of the flower beds.
“Mom, look what I found!”
She turned around and wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand, “Oh, those are your dad’s old golf shoes.”
“I didn’t know dad played golf.”
“Well, he used to.”
“Why doesn’t he play anymore?”
“Well, it’s usually pretty expensive, plus your dad likes to spend his free time with you kids.”

I can honestly tell you, at that moment, a lump formed in my throat. I don’t remember how old I was, but I was old enough to realize my dad’s sacrifice. I got a funny feeling, almost an embarrassed one, like when you walk into someone’s serious conversation and you don’t realize it until they ask you to leave. But dad never said anything about us kids interrupting his life. He never talked about how much he missed his life before us, or how much he’d love to do the things he once did.

I thought about him, working out in this heat, to provide for all us kids. Working hard so that our mom could stay home with us, homeschool us, and take care of us. The thought stopped me dead in my tracks. What other things has dad sacrificed? Do I even know what he likes to do in his free time? Does he have a hobby? Something he does just for himself? I wracked my brain but came up with nothing. I looked at the dusty gold shoes again and felt overwhelmed with thankfulness for my daddy.

To this day, I have remembered this moment. This was the moment I realized that a true man is one of self-sacrifice. A true, Godly man is one who will lay down his time, his hobbies, his life for the ones he loves. It has been the guiding light that led me to my own Godly, self-sacrificing man in Cody.

The Dusty Golf Shoes are just a picture of the sacrificial life my dad has led, and whether he knows it or not his life has taught me more than I can say in words. So this is a tribute to my Daddy Honey. Thank you for giving up your life to be the best dad in the whole wide world. I love you so much.

Happy Father’s Day!

The Kindness of a Stranger

Oh, Mondays! The day when half of you is still stuck in the weekend. When you’re really only half focused at work and your boss doesn’t care, because he’s feeling the same way too.

Well, while you’re getting yourself situated, and maybe pouring that second cup of coffee, let me tell you about what happened over my weekend. This is the story of all stories!

It all started when my husband went to let the dog in. Usually, our little miniature Schnauzer is chomping at the bit to get inside, but this particular time he didn’t come crashing through the door once it opened. He didn’t come when we called him either. My husband looked at me sort of funny, (I imagine he was thinking about yesterday when our dog, Titus, got into the chocolate chips. I could just hear his thoughts as he looked at me. Maybe the chocolate killed him.

Grabbing a flashlight my husband cautiously stepped outside. He looked all around the sad excuse we call our backyard, but no Titus. I got involved at that point, because we all know women are better lookers than men… I looked around, in the back and in the front, calling his name, but nothing happened. No bark, no whimper, no Titus.

So we got in the car and for the next 45 minutes we went searching for our little lost puppy. Driving up and down each street, winding through near by stores and parking lots, calling his name and shining a flashlight in the dark corners all we found were three cats and two kids making out in their car. (We didn’t really find two kids making out, but it makes the story sound better.)

Now, not being a pet “lover” I wasn’t too concerned. My rational thought was: He’ll show up sooner or later… let’s just wait till tomorrow and see if he comes back. But my husband had other plans.

“Let’s make signs.”

See, my husband is usually the calm, rational one, completely in control (he would even say void of) emotion. Where I tend to be the dramatic. Emotion is my middle name. This time however, our usual roles were reversed.

He paced the floor while I made the sign, calling on my mother-in-law for a good picture of Titus. Why does she have the best picture of Titus? Because she’s a dog lover. Which should’ve been my first clue to NOT tell her that Titus was missing. When we called her back to ask if we could come print the flyers at her house, it was evident she had been crying. Now, here’s where a funny comparison comes in: I called MY mother to tell her our little dog was gone and what does she do? NOTHING. She didn’t even answer. Didn’t even call me back!

We picked up the flyers and they looked pretty good:

Lost Dog

So we go to hang them up, using one of those handy dandy staple guns. We got the first one up, drove until we saw another light post and went to hang the second one. But before we could get the second sign hung we saw this:


Does anything about this sign strike you as odd?

“That’s our dog! That’s our dog!” This excited exclamation came from… me. Back to our usual behaviors.

My husband called the number and a sweet old man answered. We gave a description of Titus and confirmed that he had found him just that afternoon. We drove to his house, just a few blocks away, and picked up our little puppy. The kindness of a stranger saved the day and my husband was back to his normal, composed self, with a little smile tugging at the corners.

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