You know how the older you get the more what your parents said (only parents who were actually trying. I realize some people get loser parents) starts to make sense? Like as I was getting all tall and my feet kept growing and my dad had to my more and more new shoes, he started to call me Big Foot. I wasn't sure how to feel about it. Was I a hideous freak? Was my dad frustrated by all the expense of those shoes? Did he think my feet were abnormal?
I realized yesterday I have my own not so little Big Foot. I am so tempted to call her Big Foot, but I don't want to hurt her feelings. The reason I want to call her that is simply because the sheer nerve of her growing self just strikes me with awe. How is it possible the little baby whose teeny feet I was taking pictures of 12 years ago now has size 11 feet. What in the world? That is my size. Some women gasp in shock when you say your feet are that size. And even now as I look at her feet, they look so much tinier than mine...it helps that she hasn't been walking on her feet for 35 years and carried 5 kiddos with that slight foot spread action that goes on, but still, size 11. She doesn't look like it, but 10's are too small and so 11's it is. And my bank account will be a little smaller, but we can't have her going around barefoot, so that's just how it's gonna be.
No comments:
Post a Comment