Walking Papers? Walking Shoes! (part one)
"I'm not as good as I once was, but I'm as good once as I ever was." My father walks every day... EVERY day ...rain or shine. Maybe it's a habit he picked up when he was in the military. Maybe it's a habit he picked up as his body started showing the wear and tear of aging. Maybe he just wanted to be ready whenever the opportunity to be romantic with my mother presented itself. Myself, I think my father walks, because he believes that as long as he's walking he'll never die. The only problem is that his mind is willing, but it's his body that's letting him down. Starting with his feet. "I need a new pair of walking shoes," he tells me as he walks into the kitchen where I'm at. I'm reading the newspaper over one of the counters, and he's carrying with him a well-worn pair of walking shoes that he has never complained about before. "These hurt my feet." "What's wrong with them, pop?" I ask. He looks...