Monday, June 29, 2009

Trip Two - These Boots were made for stomping.

The year was 1965. I was in my second year of grade five.

Grade five was (and still is) a hard year for boys. Especially boys with behavioral problems and I was one of those. Many boys are entering puberty during their grade five year and although we physically mature faster than girls, mentally and emotionally were just a little slower.
Puberty just makes boys positively stupid. Our thought processes transfer from our heads to our penises and it remains that way until we reach the age of 25 or so.
Hence back in the day bad boys usually got held back a year just so they would grow up a bit.
They've stopped the practice of hold back immature and stupid kids in the education system now. Now we're excelling at producing a bunch of stupid, immature whiny Nancy boys, but that's a topic for another blog.

Here in Canada ( in my life anyway) the Beatles still ruled.
Throughout 1965 had 3 albums on the charts, Beatles 65, Beatles VI and Rubber Soul, plus a mess of singles. How prolific was that?
Nobody else in the music business had that kind of output.
That coupled with an effective press machine kept the Beatles front and centre in pre-teen & teenagers minds, ears and eyes. It's no wonder The Beatles had the success they had. They worked their asses off.

The Boy Is Introduced To Desire.
Things were starting to move in the fashion world or maybe I was finally waking up to the fact that there was a fashion world, at any rate, I had developed an obsessive compulsion for some "Beatle Boots".
The object of my desire was not for the 1964 style of Beatle Boots ( see the pic) but for some Beatle "LIKE" boots that I seen one of the big grade 7 kids wearing.
Unlike the soft stretchy fabric sides (see the pic again) of the original 1964 Beatle Boots, these boots had an exposed fat zipper down the outside of the boot with a two inch metal ring that was placed in the zipper clasp to raise and lower the zipper. They had a 2 inch heel and they were hot and they were a perfect shit-kicking boot and for a bad kid like me, well I HAD TO HAVE THEM.
Unfortunately I can't find a picture of them anywhere.

I figured having these boots would be to my advantage as they would scare the piss out of all the other grade 5 peons, plus elevate my status with the young females in my grade, some of whom were starting to develop yummy jiggly bits which I was of course wanting desperately to touch and orally abuse.
I will admit at this juncture that it's true, I was every daughter's mother's nightmare.

Interestingly this was the first piece of clothing that I had ever had a desire for. Up until that point my Mom had selected and bought me every piece of clothing I had ever worn (with the exception of a pair cowboy boots I had requested at the age of 6 when Roy Rogers was my hero).
However attaining these hot, shit-kicking, girl attracting Beatle "LIKE" boots was not going to be as easy as I had hoped.
My Mother said that if I wanted them so badly that I was going to have pay for half.
In 1965, half of the hottest shit-kicking boots totaled somewhere between 15 to 20 dollars.

The Acquisition Of Wealth.
Being the sex starved, ADHD with OCD tendencies kid that I was, I started doing odd jobs, collecting pop bottles and mowing as many lawns in the neighborhood as I could. I never wavered or lost my focus...well except for Heather McIntyre, but she made all the boys lose their focus and I was lucky to be a contender. She'd kiss me when we went over the boards at the skating rink but despite my best attempts she never let me feel her up. Then she and her family went back to Alaska and I never saw her again. Anyway, I digress.

The boots were within my grasp. I had them priced ($39.95). The store was the Henry the 3rd's Mod Shop downtown on Jasper Avenue. The Mod Shop was a 3rd branch store of Henry Singer's Men Clothing stores, hence the Henry the 3rd business.
Catering to the young hip crowd, The Mod Shop carried the best of men's clothing lines.
At the time Henry the 3rd ruled the downtown blue jean industry until local CHED radio broadcaster Bob McCord opened the Jean Joint.

Flirting With Death.
I was still $5 short but persuaded Mom to fork over her share of the dough and then I went groveling to my Dad.From the time I was born until the day he died my Father and I had a wedge...nay, a chasm the size of the solar system between us, so going to him for anything was a rare and monumental event. The issues between us were insurmountable and concerning me he had no sense of humor. Keep that in mind while I relate the rest of this little story

As kids often do, my buds and I would play with words when spoke. We would switch up the first letters on certain words.
i.e. He's a jive turkey would become He's a tive jurkey. or Have you got ten cents would become Have you got cen tents. You get the idea.

Saturday came and I mustered up my nerve. Sitting on the stairs in the back landing waiting until my Father got home, the day had arrived to make my request for the remaining five dollars that would get me the hot, shit-kicking, girl attracting, Beatle "LIKE" boots that I desired so badly that I could taste it.
As he came through the door and before my 11 year old mind could engage, the words that confidently flew from my lips were...
"Hey Dad! Can I have bive fucks?"
His eyes went big and then narrowed. There was a short momentary silence (that seemed to last forever) as I realized what I had just said to my Father.
I had just said "FUCK" to my Father.
My Father, the man that could erase me from existence, the man that could smote the very life out of me.
The blood drained from my face and in my mind's eye I saw my long visualized picture of Beatle "LIKE" boots flying away, Flying upwards to the heavens where I was certain to shortly join it.

From the kitchen my Mom had heard my verbal blunder and was now standing in the upper landing doorway silently behind me waiting to see how my father would react.
Recovering I stammered as I corrected myself.
"Ummm, s-sorry I-I mean five bucks." Quickly adding, "I need it to buy some shoes that I've been saving for."
Slowly with a hard stern look to my Mother he reached to his right back pocket to his wallet that was always chained to the belt that I also had come to fear. He pulled out a crisp fiver and reached it down to me.
My guardian angel buoyed me from the hell hole I had been sinking into and my visualized picture of the Beatle "LIKE" boots was once again coming into focus.
Grinning ear to ear I took the bive fucks and squealed a hardy "Thanks". Though I felt like offering my Father a hug. I could see that wouldn't fly.

On the bus downtown glee was my companion and the anticipation was sweet as I entered the store.
The clerk sized me up and informed me that they didn't have the boots in a size 6 & 1/2 which was my runner size. The best he could do was a 7 & 1/2. I would not be deterred and we pulled the 7 & 1/2s out and I tried on my joy and took my inaugural steps as a "Rock" and a "Rebel".
The 2 inch heels took a while to get used to.
I know my Father hated the boots and mentioned that he didn't want to see them sitting slovenly in the landing or he'd take them away.

My New Life.
If I recall the boots served me well in one scrap, punting the berries of a neighborhood tuff. It was a well timed and lucky shot really and would've happened with or without the boots.
As it turns out the same guy later beat the snot out of me in his re-match. We became friends and I later romanced and subsequently abused the boobies of his step sister who was the same age as us. I don't recall either of their names.

I wore the boots incessantly. So much so that I had the heels and souls replaced once to extend their life.
Sadly in the end after a few well served years my feet grew. The boots were well worn and getting uncomfortably tight, so they hit the bin.

Life Changes
Did the wanting, obtaining and having of the Beatle "LIKE" boots change anything in my life?
It made me realize that I could have whatever I put my mind to having, if I wanted it bad enough and was willing to sacrifice for it.
I also came to the realization that girls really are more mature than boys and they don't only like you for your shoes. They want you to treat them with respect and like them for who they are and make them feel special...
Did knowing this alter my quest to handle and chew on their nubile jiggly bits?
Leave your comments.