I Believe In The Power of Feet.

Carlos - Rialto, California
Entered on December 2, 2008
Age Group: 18 - 30

My mother struggled to keep her relationship with my uncaring dad. “22 years of knowing someone, but not really knowing them at all is scary,” my mother would say. She’d always be busy around the house, while my father was isolated. She would finish doing laundry, leaving my ogre like dad at the dinner table whining in hunger. He yelled and with no thought shoved her into a wall, then trotted softly away. I will never forget that day, the day her two big toe nails fell off. Later that night I went into my mother’s room, opening the blanket at her feet I asked her, “Mom how come your feet are so abused.” “Mijo,” she began to explain; “it is years of work, providing when your father didn’t. My feet are just a small price that most of us moms pay when we marry off too soon, or don’t really think out our future.” These feet I came to adore, feet that made sure I had food. Feet that endured two jobs during the day. Her feet were comforting.

My father although is a different story all in itself. He had his own feet. His feet, were not similar to my mother’s. Fatherly toes were a breed of cold feet. He showed none of his true feelings and at times showed no sings of emotion, making me feel uncomfortable. I think maybe he was still waiting for some sign he had long asked for, or maybe he just wasn’t in the mood to talk. All the time I forgave his “feet” everyday of my life; forgiveness is really a sad process though. He explained to me in the car, “Hey,” this is how he began to talk to everyone “I hope you appreciate what I do for my family,” and he continued on driving leaving no room for discussion. I think he had to deal with a lot of things of his own, he thought his work was more important than family time with his loved ones. His feet to me were unknown, strange even, I wanted to believe other wise. Soon after all these occurrences came over, my parents were over as well. Till’ this day he’s thinking of what he missed out with my mother now that they are separated.

There was different shade of contrast in my parents. One had a fulfillment in what their life had come to be and what they were responsible of, the other still was figuring things out. I believe that feet are a portal through people’s heart. The heart is supposed to be the most important, but just as the blood in the heart goes unnoticed, so do people’s feet. Feet show lots of secrets, tell lots of history, and to some considered to be disgusting. Maybe I love feet, or maybe I connect underlying things to unconcerned things, This I Do Believe.