It’s funny how things are ever evolving when it comes to finding happiness. As a small child, everything made me happy or at least a lot more things made me happy than made me sad. In elementary school days I could walk through the door after a hard day of school, smell the pot of pinto beans (we actually called them brown beans) cooking on the kitchen stove. Knowing my momma would get us a bowl dished up and a couple of pieces of light bread (we now call it white bread). Momma would say “Here, this will tide you over until supper”

The beans at 4:45 to 5:00 PM would not be cooked as tender as I now prefer them to be. But we weren’t complaining, because there wasn’t a microwave to stick them in or a insta-pot to pressure cook them in to suddenly get them to an extra soft even mushy texture. Nothing could put a smile on my face any faster. When I refer to “we”, that would be me and Kenny, my 2-1/2 year older brother.

The Way We Dress

I always felt like I was dressing for success at the start of the school year. We’d go to the Army Navy Store on Congress Ave in Austin right before the school year started, which was always after Labor Day, not the middle of August as it is today. We’d buy 3 or 4 new pairs of Levi’s, way too long, so we could roll up the cuffs and have some growing room. The standard dress of the day was white standard ol Hanes Tee Shirts. If we could find them in our size, we always liked getting the V-neck ones rather than the rounded cut. I’m not sure why, but they seemed more stylish. Of course we’d each get a bundle of white socks and a pair of new tenny shoes. Never wore anything but high top blacks for school. If we went through our tenny shoes too quickly however, it was a trip back to the Army Navy store to get some lace up work boots, they would hold up to the conditions much better.

Our Dancing Pumps (this may not have made me happy, but was a fact of life)

Below is a story about Kenny and me wearing those lace up boots.

My brother and I, growing up in a big rock pile in the late 50s and 60s, out on Spicewood Springs Rd, were very hard on shoes and cowboy boots.

We could go through a pair of black hightop Keds in a few weeks. We always got black ones, because the white ones sure wouldn’t stand the test of time. I’d be off in a mud hole the first day.

We had cowboy boots, mostly of the pointy toe variety. Round toe boots didn’t make a real entry until later in the 60s, it seems. But the leather soles on the cowboy boots wasn’t compatible with sharp rocks.

So about all that was left was to buy hightop, lace up work boots for school, chores and play. We found the best value down on Congress Ave, I think in about the 300 block. Austin Army & Navy was our work boot place. We’d do our back to school shopping there too.

We always started school with several pairs of Levi’s, always Levi’s. We got them several inches long and a little large in the waist. They were so durable, momma knew they would shrink and we’d grow way before we could wear them out. Of course I would always do something to tear the knees out of mine. But she keep a good supply of iron on patches around, to extend the life awhile.

In those days it wasn’t out of the ordinary for boys to show up with new jeans rolled up 4 inches or more. Momma would even starch and iron that fold in, to make it stay up better.

The rest of our back to school attire consisted of fresh white briefs and white tee shirts. No colors, just white.
Jeans and white tee shirts were our uniform.

We rode the school bus to Jollyville on a Round Rock ISD bus. Our little school, Pond Springs School (grades 1-8) was a part or RRISD. But we were certainly treated like the stepchildren, of a resentful step momma. But at least they did let us ride the bus.

There was a big high schooler that rode the bus with us, Buddy Rainer. He would taunt us unmercifully. “Well I see the Lewis boys bought their britches to long again and are wearing their dancing pumps”. That all worked pretty well for him, until we each got big enough to tag team him. But that’s about the time he started finding other transportation to school, I guess he got his drivers license and a car.

The Joys Of Eating Dewberries

That first day of school momma would take us, but after that, walked we to the bus stop, which was at our mail box, a pretty good walk down a little gravel lane. There was a time of each year when we’d stuff ourselves with fresh dewberries that grew along the roadway at our bus getting on place. They were so great tasting, as long as we didn’t care that they had a dusty coating, from the cars driving down that caliche road. We felt like they were clean enough for consumption, if we blew on them before we popped handfuls in our mouths. That was a great and satisfying addition to our breakfast of oatmeal, malt-o-meal or white rice. Any of those 3 offerings put a smile on my face, but the rice with butter, sugar and cinnamon sprinkled on it was probably my favorite.

More About Dressing, Even For Work

My early days set the tone for my desire to always dress in nice clothes to make me feel good about myself. I carried that trait with me throughout life until I fattened up starting in my 50s. It was still important to dress for success, but I found it so much harder to accomplish. It’s hard for a fat boy to not look slouchy, but with some special effort from a good tailor, even being a bit rotund or even portly, can make your Sunday clothes like good. A bunch of new duds can make a huge difference in one’s feeling about themselves. I guess having a closet that’s more like a full size room stuffed with clothes comes from making myself feel good. That is a battle I have fought for a lifetime.

Wearing Cowboy Boots

If I think back on my early days in the construction business I had started to wear Cowboy boots once again. Of course working on ranches and such I had dress the part, but during much of high school I had dropped the kicker look for a more in-look for a teenager growing up in the 60s. When it rained or got really cold and all the crews were sent home, I’d head over to buy Allen’s Boots on South Congress in Austin. Stephen Allen Greenberg had just opened his first boot store. If you get on a first name basis with the boot store owner it must mean it’s rained a lot. It must have got on my wife’s nerves for me to have that many boots. When my boys became teenagers and started wearing boots, they always knew they could come to my closet and find a new pair of boots. Like so many other things, I suddenly stopped wearing boots, buying them just didn’t provide joy to me.

A few years ago, I was down to one pair, that was collecting dust. A beautiful pair of ostrich boots. When Kenny lost his home to a fire, Kenny’s extensive collection of boots (yes buying boots brought Kenny pleasure too) was burned up in the fire. I loaded up that last pair and took them to Kenny. I knew it would take him time before he would be able to replenish everything, especially things like boots. I’m not sure that he ever wore them, but I derived joy taking him that last pair. The soles were barely scratched. I’d be surprised if I’d worn them but once. That put me out of the boot business.

Driving A New Vehicle Always Brought Joy

Few things ever provided me more pleasure than driving a new pickup or car. I’ll have to admit that I couldn’t afford to buy them as often as I bought boots, but that seemed like a close second with impulsive buying. I was fortunate because I always had someone I could hand a vehicle down to when I needed a new pickup fix. As far as I know, no one ever complained when they received a new truck to drive. I’m sorry to say, that’s just how things rolled. Now I can say I hate dealing with buying new pickups. Just a way too much trouble swapping my stuff over to a new one. Who needs those hassles?

The Woodworking Phase

I went through a phase starting about a decade and a half ago where I like to make stuff from wood and give them to people. That worked for a long time. It was an expensive habit. Buying new tools and all kinds of exotic woods was so satisfying. But what brought joy at one time no longer does it for me. If I could go work on something for a few minutes and then stop it would be fine. But it doesn’t work that way for me. So rather than adjust for that as my body and bones have changed, I just quit doing it almost altogether.

On Writing

It all seems easier for me to sit around thinking of the past and write it down, then share those memories with my friends. But you know, one day that too will change. Then I’ll be happy sitting around saying very little. And I have a feeling that will be just fine.