These Feet Were Made For Walking

I would drop to my knees and deliver the most heart-felt apology ever if I thought it would change anything. But the damage is done, and I doubt it would make much difference now.

I walked all over you, forced you into uncomfortable positions, allowed others to step on you, too, and a whole string of other injustices I can't bring myself to mention. I am truly sorry, especially considering how you carried me through the toughest times in my life and stood with me during the happiest. And you danced with me, the greatest gift of all. I'd give anything to do it again, and appreciate you the way I should have back then.

I guess the first memories I have of you are childish, but I want to go back to the beginning and remind you of the fun we once had. Remember when Granddad pulled my socks off and pretended you smelled bad so I would giggle. Once I started laughing, he'd grab you and tickle, and I'd kick and scream? I hope that was as much fun for you as it was for me.

You must have seen the abuse coming, because you toughened up early. Did you hate shoes as much as I did, and that's why you didn't complain when I jumped rope in the gravel, or walked miles on hot blacktop, or ran out in the snow without covering you? Remember that time I jumped on the broken bottle and it didn't even penetrate your skin? I was proud of you. I didn't mean to be abusive.

This is kind of embarrassing, but when I got older, I thought you were on the wrong body. The rest of me was long and thin, but you were short and fat. Why is that? Did you want to belong to someone else? For what it's worth, I learned to appreciate you for not being boats, and was glad you belonged to me.

You got me back with the warts. Warts are not cool, especially between the toes. However, I apologize for letting it turn into cellulitis, and for refusing the anesthesia when they cut on you. At least you got a break from gym and track.

Someone should just smack me for the years I forced you to travel eight floors of that hospital in high-heeled shoes. I'm sure you heard me vote out the nursing uniforms and comfortable shoes, so I won't try to make excuses. You can probably bribe the hands to deliver that punch if you want. I wouldn't blame you.

I do understand why you had to sit me down. Arthritis was more than you deserved, and you sure took the brunt of some years. I forgive you for making me wear the high-top sneakers all through 1987, even though I did feel self-conscious in my dresses and sports shoes. It helped you, so I'm glad I did it.

Can we call a truce? The rest of my body is just as miserable as you are now. If you will just promise not to hurt on the same day as my hip, I promise I'll never stick you in another pair of miserable shoes. Just keep me out of the wheelchair and I'll be happy walking as little as possible.

With a little compromise, I think we still have some good years left.