RHONDA

by Aunt Dannie (Danna) Shirley

“Listen here, young lady. They’re beginning to stink. You’ve got to let them breathe and air out!” Rhonda turned over and faced the wall in a huff.

Mom came down the stairs annoyed and appealed to Dad, “I can’t get Rhonda to take off her cowboy boots. Her feet are going to shrivel up if we don’t get some air circulating. She insists on sleeping in them.”

Mom walked in the kitchen and banged a few pots around. “Wasn’t there an old movie, ‘They Died With Their Boots On?’ or something? What are we going to do?”

 “Yeah, I know that movie. I can’t get away from that movie!” Errol said exasperated as he put down the paper. “Let me give it a try.”

He climbed the stairs and gently opened the door, breezed in and sat beside his little girl. Rhonda turned over and looked up at him innocently like she didn’t know why he was there. He could see the hard bulge at the foot of her bed.

“Listen, honey,” Dad said softly. “Isn’t it uncomfortable trying to sleep in those boots?”

“Maybe, but I’ve done it before,” she insisted. “It’s not so bad.”

“Have you ever s-m-e-l-l-e-d your boots when you take them off?” Rhonda got a surprised look on her face and Dad knew he had her.

“How about we take them off and give them a good whiff?” 

Rhonda wasn’t so sure about this. Dad was sneaky. Once she got them off, he could grab them and run.

“Honey, I promise I won’t do anything without your permission. Let’s just see what they smell like, okay?”

Dad moved the covers over and helped her sit up. He sat close to her and hugged her shoulder for a long time. Then he lifted one leg and put it on his knee. “We okay doing this now?” he asked.

She nodded and he pulled on her boot. It wouldn’t budge. “Honey, I think you’re going to have to help me.”

Rhonda yanked and kicked and pulled until finally the boot came off. Dad took the boot and held it at arm’s length away from them. “You ready?” She nodded. “Okay, then. Here goes!”

They put their heads together as Dad brought the boot close under their noses. They gagged and coughed and yucked until Dad threw the boot in the corner. He ran across the hall and got the air freshener from the bathroom, came back, and sprayed down the boot and the room until there was a cloud of light mist hanging in the air. Dad looked at Rhonda and commanded, “Smell your foot!”

She screwed up her face and pinched her nose with her fingers. “I don’t want to,” she cried.

“Okay, then. Let’s get that other boot off and go jump in the tub?”

As Dad tucked her back into bed, he asked, “How about we give those boots a rest? I’ll put them out on the front porch to air out and we’ll wear something else for a while.” He saw a lightbulb go off over her head as she ran to the closet and pulled out her baseball cleats. Dad sighed and thought Uh, oh, these could hurt!

 Rhonda woke the next morning and donned her cleats to run to the front porch for her boots. Gone! They were gone! She burst into the kitchen crying so that she could hardly get the words out. “Mom, Dad, my boots are,” eh-eh she sobbed, “g-o-n-e!”

Errol glanced at Hildy innocently and mouthed, “Not me!” Dad reached down and pulled Rhonda into his arms as she cried herself out. He had talked Rhonda into letting go of those boots and now they’d been stolen off the porch. How would she ever forgive him?

“Honey, I’m so sorry. I had no idea they wouldn’t be safe out there.”

“Can we go shopping right now and get me another pair?” she begged.

“You know what?” Dad said. “Why don’t you just wear your cleats since you’re playing baseball right now and we’ll think about it in a few months?”

That seemed to satisfy her and she grabbed her mitt and went outside to play.

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Even though Rhonda was new at this thing called sports, she was pretty good at anything she tried. Baseball was no exception. After a season of playing she hadn’t given much thought to her cowboy boots until she was over at GrandPa’s garage one Saturday and noticed them hanging from the rafters over his workbench.

“Pa, Pa,” she accused, “you stole my boots!” She glared at him with her hands on her hips waiting for, no demanding, an answer.

Pa was lovable and could get away with anything if he smiled. He winked, picked her up in his arms, and lifted her high above his head so she could retrieve her boots. She promptly plopped in a chair and pulled and yanked on them, but try as she might, they just wouldn’t come on. She looked up questioningly, “Why don’t they fit anymore?”

Pa stooped down and gave her one of his best hugs. She just couldn’t stay mad at Pa. “Honey, you’ve grown out of them. You’re getting to be a big girl. But I’ll keep them safe for you and you can have them back whenever you want.”

She returned his hug and said, “Lift me up.”

Pa lifted her back up to the rafters and she hung her boots back where they belonged. She was one happy little girl again.

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Rhonda is my niece and although she loved her cowboy boots, she did take them off at night and they definitely DID NOT stink! J

She also played baseball until she was 45 and had a couple of knee surgeries years later from her years of sliding into home. Now she wears golf spikes and works at a golf course in Fairfield Glade, TN.

 Right before Pa died at age 89, he returned Rhonda’s boots and she now has them hanging in a place of honor in her garage, along with some of Pa’s tools and one of his restored Model A’s.