⏱ ~3 min reading
It had been raining for the third day in a row. The puddles near the entrance were large, with a thin film of water rippling from the wind. Nazarko put on his favorite green boots and immediately felt something wet.
He took off his boot in the hallway. The sock was dark.
"Dad! My boots are leaking!"
Dad came from the kitchen, holding a towel over his shoulder. He picked up the boot, turned it over. There was a small hole in the toe, as if it had been pierced by a pin.
"I see. I touched it somewhere.".
“Shall we buy new ones?” Nazarko could already see in his mind the blue ones, with stars, like Tymoshka’s from kindergarten.
Dad didn't answer right away. He turned the boot over in his hands, ran his finger through the hole.
— Let's try to fix it.
— Is that possible?
"You can. I have a patch. Special glue. Ten minutes and the boot will be as good as new.".
They sat down on the rug in the hallway. Dad took a small box out of the locker. Inside were colorful rubber patches, a tube of glue, and a small metal roller.
"Here we have," Dad pointed, "a rubber patch. It's put on a hole. Like a band-aid.".
Nazarko looked closely. The patch was green — almost like a boot. Only a little darker.
"It won't come off later?"
— If you do it carefully, no. Look.
Dad smeared glue on the edge of the patch. Then the toe of the boot. He waited a minute — the glue had to dry. Then he glued the patch on top and pressed it with a metal roller. Once, once again. Here, here.
It smelled of rubber and something sharp—glue. Nazarko sneezed.
"Dad. Why don't we buy new ones? These are the same old ones.".
Dad lowered the roller. He looked at his son seriously.
"You know, son. Boots used to be expensive. One pair lasted a whole year. As long as you wore them out, they were worn out. People knew how to mend them.".
— And now?
— It's cheap now. You can buy new ones. But… — Dad twirled the repaired boot in his hands. — See this rubber patch? It's good for ten more walks. Maybe a hundred. And if we throw it away, it's garbage. On the land where we live.
Nazarko thought. He looked at his boots—green, with a worn stripe near the toe. He had been wearing them since last fall. They remembered him jumping in puddles, trampling leaves.
— Will the patch last?
— Let's try. If not, we'll buy new ones. But first, let's try.
Dad let the boot stand. He went to the kitchen and put water on for tea. He came back. He turned the boot over, poured water inside, and held it over the sink.
— Look.
Nazarko watched. Not a single drop got through. The patch stood firm as a wall.
— Wow!
— You'll try it in a puddle tomorrow.
The next day, Nazarko jumped in the biggest puddle near the entrance. His sock remained dry. He looked at his boot - a green patch was barely visible on the toe. It looked like a small medal.
When he got home, he washed his boots himself. He put them in the hallway, lined up, toe to toe. Just like his dad used to do.
The boots were old, but Nazarko already knew: they would still be used in many places.
💡 Repair is about respect.