Barefootin’

Do you remember when as kids 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 verdant mat tickling our feet and toes. We would run joyously for no reason at all, other than to have our feet freed from the heavy winter-laced, leather dungeons and the joyous feeling of flesh being freed from thick cotton and wooly 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 spread on the roadway’s berm from the winter or skipping across the grey chips of gravel of a driveway without hesitation or a flinch? The joys of our feet experiencing freedom far outweighed the inconsequential and temporary discomfort of small rocks. Now as adults, if we should we be forced to mincingly step onto those tiny pieces of gravel, we dance as though we’re walking on fiery hot coals in a bonfire pit. Is it the extra weight that we carry as adults or have we lost those exhilarating moments of our youth?

My kids would fold their toes under their feet and walk on tippy-toes, somewhat like ballerinas dancing. They would often do their tippy-toe walk to impress people and that would make a memory. Now when they come together, someone will mention their feat of feet. I believe that each of two my kids can still dance 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 two hours. They feel trapped and unable to breathe.

I still like to walk with my bare feet in the grass. It seems to invigorate my feet and toes, sending roots, somehow connecting me 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 to my car for something I’d left in the vehicle, because I’ve been too lazy to slip on a pair of shoes and I’ve tortured the soles of my feet as I danced across the rocky driveway.