Barefoot

As I write this blog, as usual I am barefoot with just the soft carpet under my feet and three cats here and there close by: Mr Larry, Lady Sabrina and Sir Chester.  I have to take time out every now and then to pet the one nearest at the moment.  Mr Larry expects a light foot rub along his back, but only just for the few seconds he allows for such.  So, bare feet serves me and the cats quite well.

My earliest realization that going barefoot can sometimes be a little dangerous was at the age of three in the front yard of the Sixth Street house where I began life here on earth.  It seems I was running, as usual, down the walkway and stepped on a bumblebee.  Needless to say, before I stepped too hard, the bee retaliated with a nasty sting.  Father was working in the flowerbed nearby so he picked me up and carried me in to Mother who adeptly removed the stinger with tweezers,  "Just think of how much the bee was hurt.  You must look where you're going young lady."  You'd think I would've learned my lesson early, but obviously not. Most of my foibles are because of being feet first, apparently not using my head first.

As earlier mentioned in my blog about falling so many times throughout the years, you may have surmised that this lack of grace could very well result in stubbed toes (yep) and even a couple of torn out toenails (yuk).  Think of the amount of money I would've saved had I worn shoes all my life without the constant need to keep up my pedicure. Think of all the bottles of nail polish purchased, the color du jour.  Funny, I generally only apply clear polish to my cut-short fingernails, but have sported such hues as green, purple or blue on toenails on several occasions.

Father used to tease saying:  "You're just a hillbilly at heart."  And, I didn't mind at all since going barefoot felt absolutely divine.  Probably, my biggest mistake was the Monday I hid my Buster Brown (boy shoes) under a bush on the way to Hamilton Primary School in Pomona.  I was in the third grade and many of my Mexican friends didn't even own shoes so it seemed perfectly alright for me to also go barefoot to school. And , the teacher didn't say a word about it to any of us. 

This routine went on for several days.  I would retrieve my shoes and socks from under the bush on the way home so my parents were none the wiser.  Well, on one Friday one of my shoes was missing from under that bush, not anywhere in sight. Both socks were in the dirt near by.  Probably a dog had run off with the shoe and no doubt gave it a good chew in the process.  So, I barefooted my way home over the dirt paths, onto the sidewalk and across Fifth Avenue with the Crossing Guard:  "Where are your shoes, missy?"  "I don't have any shoes," was my reply and I hurried the rest of the way home.

Now, new shoes were bought only when I had outgrown the old ones.  Father always measured a thumb's distance between my toes and the end of the shoe when they were bought, so obviously the Buster Brown's were meant to last the entire school year.  I was not allowed to wear my Easter Sunday shoes to school so obviously I was in big trouble.  Remember, this was still the fallout from The Great Depression and the purpose of Father buying boy's shoes was because the soles were thicker and no matter how much I deliberately scuffed the toes when walking, the shoes were polished every Saturday ready for the next school week.  I knew I had no way out of this one. 

Little did I know that during the day a lady from the Salvation Army had stopped by my house to offer "shoes for your little girl."  Mother was horrified and declared: "You must have my little girl confused with someone else."  And that was that.  Now that I had confessed what  happened the incident made sense regarding the offer of free shoes.  I was sent to bed early that night and told: "Tomorrow we'll buy you another pair of Buster Brown shoes and you will wear them to school every day and not leave them under a bush."  So much for going to school barefoot.

I still prefer going barefoot. or at the most wearing sandals, anytime of the year in fact.  Although my feet often feel cold to the touch, apparently they're too far from my head to be of any concern.  Of course the bummer is having to keep my heels smooth which could be prevented with shoes and socks no doubt.  Oh well, it's worth the effort in order to continue going barefoot, or almost barefoot.  And, I might add that as a Senior Citizen I have very healthy feet, no foot problems, probably the youngest looking feet in my age group.  Go figure.