The barefoot issue

Growing up in South Africa I was often barefoot. The story of Shaka Zulu making his warriors run barefoot over thorns to toughen their feet led to a cultural bravado about barefootedness -

"their feet were hardened, by frequent runs over the hot stony ground and by stamping thorns into the ground so that scar tissue would form."

Perhaps not over thorns, but I could run all the way across the burning sand at North Beach from the waterline to my towel. If it got too hot I could dig a hole and stand in that a while!

In Australia, my ex-husband's BFF was a bare foot zealot. He taught akido and believed that we should not wear shoes and so he did not. When his baby-Mama won a prestigious art fellowship to travel to France for a year, he finally had shoes for emergencies (like snow and major gallery receptions) but tried his best to stand by the ethic.

Coming to America, I found that bare feet are considered bad form. Many stores have signs prohibiting service to barefooted people and on more than one occasion when I have had a young child, barefoot, in the heat of summer I have been told that they just can't have a child barefoot in the store for their own safety because we can't guarentee their safety and there could be glass or something on the floor!

Apparently, America is vulnerable to an attack from the floor. Perhaps a shard of glass here or there will bring capitalism to its knees, really.

Regardless, Frost hates shoes. Really. He has about 4 pairs of shoes that are not for soccer (Blundstones, flip flops, some parkour shoes and a rather posh pair of Sperry topsider sandals.) Unless I nag, he does not wear any of them. IF I nag, he wears flip-flops and kicks them off as soon as we are in the car/library/out of the store.

Last week, taking Frost to the radiologist to have his "end of braces x-ray" I did not nag. We arrived at the medical tower to find he had no shoes. He knows enough about public opinion to feel awkward.

Here he is entering the elevator without shoes. In Washington State, this is a radical act.

And here he is hiding his bare feet in the waiting room.

I explained to the radiographer that 'we' had forgotten them, and she said it was alright because "we have carpet and nothing sharp on the floor."

ARGH! Enough with the sharp stuff already! Don't they know about Shaka?

When we returned to the car, Frost FOUND his shoes under the seat. He had taken them off in the car and forgotten. The drama was over. I wait to see whether there was a lesson in it. Nothing natural happened as a consequence, so I doubt it. But we shall see whether the fear of consequences broke through his shoe apathy.