Barefootin’

 Barefootin’
Can you remember as kids that we couldn’t wait for the snow to disappear and for the grass to become green? The winter boots were stored away and socks and shoes came off. We couldn’t wait until we could feel that newly grown green mat tickle our feet and toes. We would run joyously for no reason at all other than to have our feet freed from those heavy winter-laced, booted leather dungeons and the joyous feeling of our feet being freed from thick cotton or wooly sock cocoons. It was grand to be a child on warm sunny days like that.
Who recalls bare feet skimming over the dark ash antiskid material that had been spread on the roadway’s berm and were now left-overs from the winter or skipping across the grey gravel chips on a driveway without hesitation or a flinch? The joys of our feet experiencing freedom far outweighed the inconsequential and temporary discomfort of the small rocks. Now as adults, if we should we are forced to mincingly step onto those tiny pieces of gravel, we wince.  We dance as though we’re walking on hot coals in a fiery pit. Is it the extra weight that we carry or have we lost those carefree exhilarating moments of our youth?
My kids would sometimes fold their toes under their feet and walk somewhat like a ballerina dancing. They would often do their tippy-toe walk to impress people making a memory for themselves. Now when they come together someone will mention their feat of feet. I believe that two my kids can still walk on their folded toes.
Most often when I come in from outside, I’ll kick off my socks and shoes. My feet tire when they’re wrapped in socks and shoes, especially if I wear shoes for more than a few hours. They feel trapped and unable to breathe. I don’t know how I survived all those years of wearing shoes to work.
I still like to walk with my bare feet in the grass. It seems to invigorate my feet and toes, sending roots to somehow connect with the world around me. I can’t remember if I could ever walk on my toes as a kid, but I certainly cannot now. And don’t expect me to stroll across the gravel driveway. It’s not going to happen. I have on occasion slipped out of my house to my car for something I’d left in the vehicle because I’ve been too lazy to slip on a pair of shoes, then I’ve tortured the soles of my feet as I danced across the rocky driveway to my car.