Shoes and Manhood

Few months ago, I bought some shoes. Nice shoes. Almost $300 dollars. Johnston and Murphy. Bought two shoe brushes with them, and some socks. Didn't think I'd need them, but I'm glad I bought them anyway. Nice lady who sold them to me, who could obviously tell I didn't have a pair like this before, showed me how to take care of them, polishing them for me, the movements to make, having me do it in front of her, what to do in cases of damage, all that. So now, I do that with some regularity. I don't always wear them, I might wear them for Mass or something, but I'll always clean them. And there's something very nice about it. There's something of a ritual to it that speaks to my inner man. I think many rituals are like this. For old school cholos, it was pressing ones pants to highlight the crease. For many boy growing up, it was seeing their dads shave and being taught how to shave. Learning how to tie a tie. How to start a fire. How to hunt. A passing on of wisdom and skill, from one generation to the other, to keep the old ways alive. Perhaps there is a feminine version. Grandmothers recipes. Stitching a perfect patch. No clue. While I didn't have a dad to show me all this, I notice my siblings watch me do it in silence. It's a mysterious thing. A liturgy of our masculine and feminine ancestors. Hopefully I have something to pass on.