Barefoot

It may have been a case of  neglect, laziness or maybe even memory loss. But a while ago I found myself busy at my computer, sitting here in my bare feet. It felt so very good. My mind pondered, “Why is it feeling so good to sit here in my bare feet?” I got theoretical. Maybe it’s because that’s how we first entered this world and we humans have an innate urge to get back to nature. Maybe it was just because it felt good to have one’s feet not restricted in any way. And any kind of freedom feels good. Maybe it was an act of asserting myself and I was saying to myself “ If I feel like going barefoot today, I will just do that, regardless of what anyone else may think or say.’

Upon deeper reflection on this earth-shaking question I came to another conclusion. And it’s one I will stick with. It felt good to be barefooted because it brought back all kinds of memories of my youth. I grew up in Texas. Part of that Texas rural and family freedom meant we did not have to wear shoes. We went barefooted at home, when we played, when we went to school, when we “went to town”. Only going to church on Sunday demanded shoes. Even then I didn’t like it and always had my shoes off even before we sat down for Sunday dinner.

Going barefooted did have its down-sides. One is that we were constantly stepping on stickers, burrs, glass, screws, nails and even needles. When I broke my ankle playing college football the x-ray technicians were more concerned about that needle embedded in my heel than with my ankle. I remember how that diagnosis frightened my mom who feared it would migrate to my heart and prove fatal. The Drs. assured us it was firmly embedded in tissue. A few years later after playing basketball with my pupils at St. Paul’s school in Tracy, CA I was again at the x--ray lab. So again the question: “What is the world is that needle doing in your heel?” I explained it was just another reminder of those wonderful days of going barefoot in my youth.

Going barefoot in the cotton fields of a Texas summer also proved a bit of a challenge. When the temperature hit the near hundreds the unshod soles of one’s feet got really challenged. I remember how I tried to find the shade of the cotton plants to protect them but it never got so bad that I wanted to wear shoes. One result is that tremendous calluses were formed on the bottom of my feet, a remnant of which stays with me to this day.

Of course, I could get even more philosophical and reflect upon poor kids whose feet are cold in winter because they have no shoes, or poor children who face bites and diseases because of their bare feet. But sitting here at my computer in my bare feet I will just revel in the moment and let my mind have the joy of remembering the marvelous carefree, barefooted days of my youth!