It was a Sunday morning and an early winter storm had moved in over night. I had just started the coffee and went to put on my snow boots to get the paper when I realized I had left them at work. Such is the characteristic of Denver snow and sun, enough snow to warrant boots in the morning and sun by midday to have you wishing you had your sandals with you.

Dang! Not wanting to venture out in my slippers, I reached for my old standbys, my Dannerâ hiking boots. Bought in the spring of '75, they have been my sole companions across thousands of miles; the Sangre de Cristo Mountains of New Mexico, the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee and North Carolina, the wetlands and hills of northern Michigan - I think I probably wore them daily as a student in Marquette, up-county Kenya and Tanzania, they even took me to the top of Kilimanjaro and back. Needless to say they have seen better days, but there are no better companions for my feet. Years of wear have molded them to a perfect union of flesh, socks and leather.

Shoes can tell a lot about a person, and while I am probably identified more by my Bass Weejuns than my Danners, my Danners represent the explorer poet I've always longed to be. I can't put them on without being transported to the past and future.

One of my favorite childhood pictures is a black and white photo of me placing my one-year old feet into my dad's black steel toe work shoes. I imagine most of the world's children have at one time in their life tried to put on an adult pair of shoes or sandals.

I can't claim to remember what was going through my mind when I stepped into my dad's shoes, but I venture to think that it had something to do with wanting to be like him. Children see, children do. They want to be like us; they want to walk in our shoes. I think each of my children tried to clomp around in my old pair of Danners, but that was before they could tie their own shoes. As young adults I'm sure there are aspects of their old man that they would like to characterize their own lives, but they also know that I don't so much want them to be like me but rather to be true to their own sense of self and purpose.

I'm not sure what will happen to my pair of Danners. I imagine I will have them until the day I die. At that point it really doesn't matter what happens to them. Their magic lies in the steps and stride of my memories. I do hope each of my children will possess something that takes them through the years, something that connects them to their past and helps them imagine their future. And if that something is a "sole" companion that walks them through the mountains and valleys of God's great earth I for one will understand.

Originally posted at www.coloradodads.com