Rough Out Boots--Monday Memories

Digger always wore black shiny, pull on work boots.

Always.


One year, when my brother and I were both married and living in Utah, Digger began a campaign for new boots. He would say, "Boy I sure would like some rough out boots." And then in a few days, "I have always wanted a pair of rough out boots." And so on, for about 4 or 5 months before his birthday.

Digger was never one to ask for anything, so I'm sure in retrospect he was not hinting for us to buy them for him. Rather, he was talking himself into it.

If you don't know it, rough out boots are brown and they have a rough leather exterior like unfinished leather. Well, not that rough, but anyway, they are not smooth and shiny.

So, my brother and I went together on our struggling college budget and bought him a pair of brown rough out boots, just like his shiny black ones, only brown and rough out.

We all met at his house and had lunch, then he opened his present and put the brand new brown rough out boots on and said, "Boy, these are nice, they would be nicer if they were black and shiny."

My brother, boxed them up, went back to the store and got him a pair of black shiny boots. Have I told you--I loved Digger.

Digger--A Monday Memory

I was thinking about my grandfather. Let me give you a little background about him:

We called him Digger in my family. Other grandchildren called him Gramp, but he was always Digger to me. Digger got his nickname because when he was a young man, he drove a digging machine in construction jobs. Besides, he hated his real name, he used to turn up his upper lip and sneer as he said it "Linsey Clair."

Digger was one tough hombrea. He never hugged you. If you were hurt and started to cry, and the two of you were alone in a room, he would say, "come here and I'll see if you're hurt." The most affection I remember getting from Digger was a thump on the head with his big, index finger. He would get sick of having the children in the house and he would say (as he thumped you on the head) "Down in the hole, kid." That meant go down in the basement apartment he had built as a rental for college students but it always had a family member living in it.

He gave the appearance of being gruff and tough, but he was really a softy inside. We all witnessed it from time to time as he came to our individual defense over one thing or another when he viewed one of us as having been wronged by someone or something. He was adorable. I loved him dearly.

Several years after Granner died, he moved in with my Aunt Pat. I lived close by. He would call me on the phone and say, "Come and get me" and hang up the phone. I would, of course, drive right over and pick him up. We would go to the bank so he could deposit his Social Security check (he said he didn't want Aunt Pat to know how much money he had--that always made me smile knowing she didn't care one way or the other). We would go to the drive up window, I would deposit his check for him and then he would take me to McDonald's and buy my lunch.

But the real story is here.

I was taking some college classes and the parking was aweful, so I would drive to Aunt Pat's house and park my car, get my bike and ride right up to class. When I returned, I always stopped at the house to say hello.

One day, upon returning from school, I knocked on the door and, as usual, called out the phrase all the women in my family use--"Yoohoo, Honey, I'm Home." Digger was asleep in a chair just around the corner from the front door. He woke up and stepped around the corner. I was standing in the doorway with the sun full force behind me. He saw me and said, "Where have you been, I have been searching all over for you." He then put both arms around me and gave me a full body hug.

I said, "Well, Digger, I've just been at school." He immediately pushed me away, cleared his through and tried to dismiss the situation.

I told my Mom about it and she agreed, he thought I was Granner. It is one of the tender moments I keep in the box, all women have in their brains, that holds precious memories.

Do you have a box? What do you have in your box?