Welcome back to Our American Stories, where we celebrate the remarkable everyday experiences that shape our nation. Today, we’re honored to hear from Scott Jones, pastor and author of Growing Up Rural: Lessons Learned for a Lifetime. Scott takes us back to his childhood in rural Iowa, sharing a vivid memory from fifth grade when his small country school consolidated. It was a time of big changes for a young farm boy, navigating new teachers, new classmates, and even “new math,” setting the scene for a pivotal moment in his formative years, a story that truly embodies the spirit of American resilience and learning.
But it was a pair of muddy, well-worn farm boots that would become the unlikely star of Scott’s “Stinky Boots” tale. After a frantic morning of hog chores, Scott inadvertently brought the aroma of the farm directly into his new fifth-grade classroom, leading to a memorable encounter with his strict teacher. What could have been a humiliating moment for a young student reveals instead a profound lesson in empathy, respect, and understanding. Join us as Scott Jones beautifully illustrates how a simple childhood mistake can transform into a timeless lesson about grace, forgiveness, and the hidden depths of kindness we find in our shared American journey.
📖 Read the Episode Transcript
Transitioning from fourth to fifth grade for me was very difficult. Our school in Zeng, Iowa, consolidated with the neighboring town of McCallsburg and became known as NESCO, or Northeast Story County. Since we lived out in the country, a school bus would pick us up early in the morning, and we would be on the bus thirty to forty-five minutes, stopping at other houses along the way to pick up other kids. We would be let out at the zeroing school building and then get on to another bus that would take us to McCallsburg, which was ten minutes away. After school, we would go through the same procedure to arrive home. There were new kids in the class from McCallsburg whom I had never met, and our fifth-grade teacher, she seemed to be very strict and uptight, which was much different than my fourth-grade teacher. And to top it off, we had to learn something they called “new math,” and I got my very first failing grade the first nine weeks. Now, that did not sit well with my parents, so Mom and Dad tried working with me on this new math, and I limped along for the entire year.
Now, sometimes in the morning, before the school bus arrived to pick me up, I had to do chores. I had to feed the hogs, as we did not have automatic feeders. The hog lot was a mixture of dirt, mud, and hog manure, and depending on the time of the year, if it was dry or rainy, that would dictate the ground underneath my feet to feed those hogs. At any rate, I usually wore my buckle-up rubber boots to keep my shoes clean. Now, this particular morning, I was running a little bit late in feeding the hogs before the bus came. It was early winter; its snows on the ground, but the hog lot had not frozen over, so it was still quite soft and gooey, thus sticking to my boots. Upon finishing up, I ran to the house to get my school supplies and catch the bus as I saw it coming down the road. Hurt radeness, I did not clean off my boots. I thought, “It’ll be all right. I would clean them off at recess in the snow.” So, upon arriving at school, I went directly to my classroom. Our classroom had a type of walk-in closet behind the teacher’s desk where we would hang our coats and put our boots. Also, our school was heated by those big, metal water heater radiators. There were a couple in the classroom and a smaller one in the coat closet.
As class began, everything was going fine until about halfway through the morning. All of a sudden, our teacher lifted her head and turned as though something was annoying her. She started into teaching again and stopped a second time, looking back toward the closet. She placed her teaching material down and got up and went back into the closet. It seemed like she was in there a long time. She finally appeared with a pair of boots in her hand. Something brown and ugly was dripping off those black boots, and the smell – well, it was horrendous and permeating the classroom. She was not happy. She asked, “Whose boots are these?” No one answered. I shrunk down in my seat at my desk. She asked a second time, “Whose boots are these?” My classmates all started to look over at me as I sheepishly raised my hand and confessed my crime of bringing stinky, hog-lot, manure-covered boots to school, only to bring a new type of unacceptable perfume to our fifth-grade classroom. I thought, “Oh boy, now what?”
Well, she was very gracious to me, as I was sure she saw my worsome expression and even a hint of shame before my classmates. She stated to everyone in the class, and didn’t just pinpoint me, “Please, for those of you who live and work on the farm, clean your boots off at home before coming to school.” She then asked me if I would please take my boots and place them outside the door of the school building and leave them there until it was time to go home. But what took the edge off the incident was the way she looked at me as she handed me the boots. It was as if her expression toward me was, “Scott, it’s okay, and I understand.” That gave me the courage to come back to class unashamed, and no one ever said anything to me about those boots. Maybe the fact that she knew my parents pretty well, as my mom also was an elementary teacher, played a part in her response. Whatever the case, I had a newfound respect for her, and she became one of my favorite teachers.
Well, through this incident earned a number of life lessons. The old saying is true, as in this case, “Never judge a book by its cover.” When I said that my teacher always seemed uptight about something, that was because her husband was very sick and she was the breadwinner as well as her husband’s caregiver. She had a lot on her plate. I also learned not to shame people when they make mistakes, especially in front of their peers. This can be devastating, especially in those formative years. My fifth-grade teacher was not only wise, but she was sensitive to eleven- to twelve-year-old kids, as she had been teaching for many years. I also learned the lesson: Clean your boose off before going to school.
And a terrific job on the production by Montey Montgomery, and a special thanks to Scott Jones for his story, “Stinky Boots.” And by the way, he learned a lot about his teacher: that she was a wise, sensitive person who is herself going through a lot of things. “Thinky Boots” by Scott Jones. Here on Our American Stories. Folks, if you love the great American stories we tell and love America like we do, we’re asking you to become a part of the Our American Stories family. If you agree that America is a good and great country, please make a donation. A monthly gift of seventeen dollars and seventy-six cents is fast becoming a favorite option for supporters. Go to OurAmericanStories.com now and go to the “donate” button and help us keep the great American stories coming. That’s OurAmericanStories.com.
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