I have worn these Kenneth Cole boots for over 20 years, which is a third of my life. They deserve both my respect and gratitude as I am about to trash them. If I were in India, I would have got them repaired but here in America the repairs cost nearly half its original price of $250.
I do not get attached to things. Trashing them will not cause any separation anxiety. At the same time though I do think about their journey. Once upon a time its upper was part of a cattle’s hide. That means enclosed within that was a living animal which too was some cow or buffalo or pig’s baby in China. My boots were made in China.
It is impossible for me to find out whether an animal was killed just for the purpose of obtaining its hide or the makers sourced it from carcasses. In either case there was once an animal inside that hide. If I add up the various periods in the boots’ cycle the particular animal likely lived some 35 or so years ago factoring in the average age of cattle.
In the last 20 odd years my boots traveled tens of thousands of miles, taking me to numerous events, many of which helped me earn my livelihood as a journalist. That in turn helped me support my family.
Speaking of family, very recently these boots were worn by me for my son Jashn’s wedding. I even danced vigorously in them. I am sure some guests noticed how completely torn the right boot had become. It is quite likely that some guests were either embarrassed or amused or both by the sight of the groom’s father in torn boots. I could have, with some effort, purchased new shoes. I did not. Instead, I chose these as my final tribute to them by wearing them at my son’s wedding.
Like all well-worn shoes, these too were like home. They had become accustomed to my feet, their shape, the angle and speed of my walking and so on. It is perhaps silly, but I do tend to respect inanimate objects as much as I do animate. Like I said, the boots’ leather once covered an animate lifeform.
If only boots could talk, mine would have so many stories to tell. Always at the bottom of my existence they were witness to so many events. Not once did they squeak in pain in the muscle memory of an animal they once enveloped.
Now that they are being thrown away, I feel selfish and even cruel.