A Little Boy’s Boots

There was a little boy in kindergarten. At the end of one cold winter day, when all the other children were leaving, the teacher found him crying, so she asked him what was wrong. He sobbed, “I can’t find my boots.” The teacher looked around the classroom and saw a pair of boots. “Are these yours?” “No, they’re not mine,” said the little boy, shaking his head. The teacher and the boy searched all over the classroom for his boots. Finally, the teacher gave up, “Are you SURE those boots are not yours?” “I’m sure,” the boy sobbed, “mine had snow on them.” (thebayfieldbunch.com)

Author: Jim Hagarty

I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.