Shoes, Rivalries, and the Quiet Traditions We Keep

This is my father-in-law, Victor Signo.

My father-in-law being promoted.

By Glenn Haggard – Gruntworks Technology

Dad enlisted in the U.S. Navy on March 11, 1960, and served for nearly 22 years, retiring in January 1982. This photo was taken when he was promoted to Chief Petty Officer, which is a moment any sailor understands as more than just a rank change. It’s recognition, responsibility, and trust, all wrapped into one anchor.

After I married his daughter, we started a tradition.

I’m Army. I served in the 1990s. He was Navy, through and through.

Every year when Army played Navy, we made a deal:

• If Army won, he, the Navy veteran, would shine my shoes.

• If Navy won, I, the Army veteran, would shine his.

Simple. Clean. No trash talk required.

The thing is, Navy never lost. Not once.

He took quiet satisfaction in that fact, and I took equal satisfaction in the ritual itself. Because if you’ve worn a uniform, you understand that rivalries like this aren’t about animosity. They’re about shared language. Shared standards. Shared understanding of what it means to serve something bigger than yourself.

The shoe shining wasn’t humiliation, it was respect. It was a handshake that lasted a season.

Victor wasn’t the only Navy man who shaped my life.

My paternal grandfather served in the Navy from 1948 to 1952. My maternal grandfather served in the Air Force around the same time. Different branches, different roles, but the same values echoed through all of them. Duty. Competence. Humor without cruelty. Pride without arrogance.

Victor and my grandfather were born in different countries, spoke with different accents, and came up through different Navy eras, but they had enormous respect for one another. My wife and I used to joke that they were twins separated by geography and time.

Then came 2008.

Victor passed away before the Army–Navy game.

That year, I shined his shoes anyway.

I did it before the game was played. I did it before we laid him to rest. The score didn’t matter anymore, and somehow, that made the act matter more. It wasn’t about winning. It was about keeping faith with a tradition that had outlived the reason it started.

Since then, I’ve carried the tradition forward. When he passed, I took a pair of his dress shoes.

Every year, when Army plays Navy, I remember a Chief Petty Officer who never stopped being a sailor, even after the uniform came off. I remember two Navy men from different worlds who somehow felt like brothers. And I remember that the best rivalries aren’t built on hatred, but on mutual respect earned the hard way.

I’ll keep shining the shoes. I’ve had to 11 of the last 17 years.

Maybe my son will marry someone from the Navy, and the tradition will continue.