Green Rubber Knee Boots

Nothing screamed freedom for me as a kid like green rubber knee boots. Each winter meant new boots for me and my little brother. Sometimes they were Christmas presents, but more often they were simply necessities of two boys who took their job of getting dirty very seriously and whose feet were apparently steeped in fertilizer each night.

Sometimes we would go with our folks to pick them right off the shelf at the store. These generally stood straight and proud on metal shelves with a little forward lean to them giving the boots an air of slightly bowing soldiers ready for service. They came shackled together with a length of thin white cord or perhaps a plastic thread. Depending on the model, they would sport long yellow laces all the way up the front and a strip of yellow rubber around the top. Sometimes we got the plain slip on kind with no laces, but I found that I loved the lace up version better.

I loved threading those laces in and out and in and out and then cinching them down tight at the top to lock the legs of my overalls or jeans in place and make that puffy denim billow at the knee. You couldn’t maintain the billowy effect with the slip on kind, so you couldn’t look like a British soldier for very long with those. The only drawback to the laces was that over time the plastic tip would get worn off and then the laces would fray, then threading them through the eyes got to be a chore, and then the cockleburs would grab hold of the ends and make a spiky wad or maybe the beggar lice would gang up on the ends. Either way pulling the laces back through the eyes required some picking and pulling at the end of the day.

Getting boots at the store was nice, but nothing was better than getting boots in a box and even better was if they were wrapped up. Rubber knee boot boxes are big. They are wide. They can double as a lap desk. And the best ones have the hinged lid and open like a treasure chest. I can still remember several Christmases setting a wonderfully wide box with faint traces of vulcanized rubber seeping through the bright Christmas paper on my lap and waiting for the command for me and my brother to open them together. Of course we knew what was inside. We knew the weight distribution of heavy on both ends but light on the sides meant new boots hiding in the cardboard treasure chest. Sometimes a big sticker with a picture of the boots greeted us from under the shredded Christmas paper. But every time, raising the lid meant that a sweet rush of rubbery goodness filled the air.  Then you had to fold back that sheet of packing  paper and maybe pull the cardboard inserts out before you could try them on. And by all means get the wad of paper out of the toe.

I loved the slick inside. I loved wiggling my toes around all the space in the toe. There was always space in the toe, plenty of space for growing feet. Just had to wear more socks. Then came the requisite walk around the room and up and down the hall, booming along on the wood floor. But best of all was the bang of the back door, the clumping down steps and the heavy, thunderous thunk, thunk, thunking across the yard to the nearest mud hole. And freedom.