Green Boots

When my son was four years old, he wore the same pair of green frog rain boots every day for over a year. He wore them in the rain, of course, but he also wore them in blizzards and on hot July days. He wore them when he went to school and the grocery store and the swimming pool. He played soccer and rode his bike in those boots. They completed every outfit and superhero costume.

After a while the boots started breaking down.

It began with a few cracks and then some rips which created little flaps that fluttered in the air as he ran. I’d often come across a new piece that had fallen off—in the house, the car, his bed. I was waiting for the day the boots dismantled mid-stride into a crumbled heap on the ground. Until then, I knew that if I couldn’t find him, I just needed to follow the green rubber trail.

The boots received endless commentary wherever we went. Most people laughed. Some were confused. A few folks even offered to buy him a new pair.

But he chose those battered boots, over and over again, and over all other shoes. I bought him flip-flops and sneakers, but he always chose the boots. Even when they deteriorated to a point that when it rained, they remained wet, he still chose the boots.

He picked them because although he liked other shoes, he loved the boots.

And to love means to make a choice, the same choice, over and over again. It’s a knowing and deliberate choice. It may not always be logical or practical. In fact, it often isn’t.

Love doesn’t worry about cracks or rips. Love refuses other options, including the sparkly new ones. And love hangs on, even in the rain.

He kept coming back to those silly, ragged, green boots. Every single day.

That’s love.