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As heard on the Good Stuff with Jim Thompson
Young folks don’t know a grand parent’s worth
‘till after they’re gone to their Heavenly berth
But I was blest with a wise old hand
and followed his boot prints in the sand.
I remember followin’ those prints around
I’d find them ever’where, pressed in the ground
Sometimes in mud, sometimes in dry,
I always felt safe with those boot prints nigh.
When nature’s call came late at night
privy’s out back, the darkness a fright,
Then mornin’ dawned and you would find
grandpa’s boot prints right by mine.
At about age four my grandpa began
teaching me things that make a man,
I learned a lot ‘bout life and trust
just followin’ his boot prints in the dust.
When temptation raised its ugly head
and I’d get sent to the ol’ wood shed
I’d have this fear down in my gut
of grandpa’s boot print on my butt.
He started me ropin’, hand on my wrist,
showed me the way my rope should twist
When I’d throw a loop and miss a calf
he’d stand in his boot print, watch and laugh.
I’d saddle my pony, go roamin’ the breaks,
mother would worry at chances I’d take
Grandpa would tell her, “Don’t you fret,
someday he’ll match my boot prints yet.”
He’d take me fishin’ along the cricks
in catchn’ fish he knew the tricks
Taught me to take just what I need
I followed his boot prints, takin’ heed.
When I’d find myself in dire straights
with decisions to make that couldn’t wait
I’d follow the trail to grandpa’s side
with grandpa’s boot prints as my guide.
He’d settle my mind, listen and nod,
I trusted his wisdom next to God,
And in the end I’d find the clue
like grandpa’s boot print, in plain view.
We worked our cows, good weather ‘n’ bad,
‘twas the best education a boy ever had
He taught me to always care for the land,
followin’ his boot prints made me a hand.
He told me tales of his cowboy days
that made me want to follow his ways
But my stride will never match his, pard,
‘cause my boot prints never had it that hard.
©2011 Slim McNaught
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The Good Stuff
