The little woman and I have been purging the house of stuff collected over the past half century. I just found my boondocks - the shoes I was issued upon arrival at Navy boot camp in 1971.

When we arrived at boot camp, my cohorts and I boxed up and sent home every stitch of clothing we had brought with us. Every "comfort" we might have counted on was shipped home. They gave us every piece of clothing we would wear. Every shred of originality that made us "us," was stripped away. Everyone's hair was buzzed to ½". Our bodies and clothing were rendered uniform, as in the same.

On line to receive uniform parts, we were told to take what we got. No complaints, no exchanges. The single exception were the marching shoes - boondocks. The shoes that we would wear all day, every day. They were our primary mode of transportation. We were told we were allowed to make sure our boondocks fit properly. That was the only item we had a choice about.

It turns out that right then, at 20 years, of age I learned that my feet required different size shoes! My

When the soles began to split I bought work boots (always both the same size - shoe stores wouldn't let me split them up). I carried my boonies from residence to residence and now here they were, covered in dust at the back of a closet.

Since we are purging our house of stuff just like this, I no longer can see a point to keeping them so out they have gone. I did put them on one last time and did a few push-ups for old times sake.

Below is a pic of my faithful friends, my boondocks. Also is a pic of what they looked like when they were new. For comparative purposes there is a picture of me, instructing my pal Sparky on the General Orders of the Sentry (I will walk my post in a military manner …). It seems my body has aged at the same rate as my boonies