One year, back in the 60s, I gave my father a new pair of construction boots for Christmas. The next day, my sister Rita called to tell me that dad needed a larger size. She and her husband, Gibby, offered to take me to exchange the boots. At the store I explained what I wanted to the clerk and handed him the box. I was surprised and shocked when he opened it to reveal my father’s old, beat up, mud-encrusted boots. Mortified, I grabbed the boots and turned away to find Rita and Gibby standing outside the store window doubled over in hysterics.

Submitted by: Diane Bisson