So we’re getting in the car, my son and I, to go to the church for the Friday night Akathist Hymn. My girls, mom to boot, were headed to Huntsville for DOWAMA Winter Camp (Texas Style).
Before he goes to close and lock the gate, my son throws into the car his DSI and one cowboy boot.
I back the car up; he shuts, locks, and joins me in the car. Knowing he was probably planning to serve as altar boy, and noticing his feet sported Converse sneakers, I assumed he planned to change into his black boots at church.
I said, “Son, you only brought one boot.”
“I know,” he said, “I only need one.”
I looked at him and, with the skill of a father, raised one eyebrow.
“Dad! I’m not going to wear it,” he said.
I raised the other brow.
“I’m going to have a drawing contest … it costs one dollar to enter and the person who draws the best boot wins all the money.”
I said, “Son … ain’t nobody gonna give you a dollar to draw a boot.”
He said, “Okay, fifty cents.”
“Ain’t nobody gonna give you fifty cents!”
He smiled and said, “Okay … okay!”
We’d gotten about a half mile down the road and he said: “One penny?”
Penny Loafers I’ve heard of, but Penny Boots?
(As far as I could tell, the boot spent the night in the car, no portraits, no pennies.)
Oh, by the way … save your pennies: the Rodeo is comin’.