Today, I taught my 12-year old son how to polish his shoes. He was intrigued by the process and pleased with the outcome of eyeing his scruffy shoes looking much more presentable after a coating of bootblack and brushing.
Even a small and not too difficult task, I felt good, having passed on to my son something that my father taught me when I was a kid. Till this day, whenever I polish my shoes the smell of the bootblack and the brushing and polishing to coal a dull sheen from the leather always reminds me of me being fascinated by this thing that my father bought me.
It was a boys’ thing, something passed from father to son for generations. Many years from now, I hope that my son will feel this way too.
Unspun 
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