A Shoeshine

 

He needed a shoeshine.  Rather, he needed to learn to shine his own boots.  It shouldn't amount to much, but it was eloquent.  Me, busy at the stove, scrambling to get dinner for seven on the table.  Four younger siblings flitting here and there.  I turned and glimpsed the two of them, father and son, on the floor shining a pair of boots.  I eagerly watch as he grows, but I want him to stay young.  He's still my chubby two year old, the one who spends his days alone with me.  My little buddy.  Then, I blink and he's shining his combat boots with dad, getting a uniform ready for his weekly meeting.