A memory came about this afternoon as I was driving home I happened to catch a swift scent of shoe polish. The scent of shoe polish took me back some 30 something years ago as I sat in my parents room shinning my fathers leather shoes before he tended to the office. I clearly remember sitting on the cold marble floor and watched my father reading the news paper on his bed, while the radio played songs. I remember always listening to Lionel Richie in their room while I routinely took his shoes from the closet and sat on the floor next to him and begun my shoe shining rituals. Take the kiwi shoe polish, you know the kind with the little boat cleat lever for popping the top of the tin off. The next move would be to take his right shoe and place it on my left hand ,with my little girl fist inside where my daddy’s toes spent their work days. I’d brush the dust off the toe cap, the sides to the heel, and finally the eyelets and tongue. Then I’d place the shoe on the floor and, turn the wing-nut to pop the lid off of the polish tin, and grab a soft cloth that I’d wrap around the first two fingers of my right hand. I’d dip into the paste, and with a clump of it on my clothed fingertips, I would rub it in small circles over every bit of leather on his shoes, staining the scuffs away. I’d brush them off one last time, then buff with a cloth until the shoe shined. I was never paid for such work, as it was just a divine pleasure to shine his shoes and wait for the moment that he would put them on and head off to work. However, before heading out he would say “good job Tot’s” and I would smile and start my day off with a skip. I miss the scents of warm leather, shoe polish and my dad. Until next time…..