"It's too bad you don't have bigger feet."
I sent that message to a friend the other day. I don't think he understood what I meant, and I didn't offer any further explanation. We just left it at that. I've thought about it quite a bit since then, and I've realized I was pretty spot-on.
When aimed at a fat kid, jokes and insults are entirely uncalled for. Parents scold their children for verbalizing what they themselves keep tucked silently in the not-so-hidden recesses of their minds. After all, it's not the kid's fault they're a little overweight, right? Perhaps they haven't been taught to exercise, or perhaps their parents don't provide for them correctly. Or perhaps they're just "growing into themselves."
But when you've got big feet, it's open season.
You quickly learn that is is acceptable, almost even expected, for individuals both young and old, both those in your immediate family and those you've never met, to laugh at the obvious.
"How's the water skiing going? Barefoot, right?"
"I'll bet you love snow-shoeing – you don't even need the shoes!"
"How many gallons of milk can you fit in these boats?"
When I was 16, I bought my first size 16 shoes. I went from a 13 to a 16 in one glorious day – my feet had never felt better. But while I have what some might call a "firm understanding" (I'm a poet and didn't know it, but my feet show it: they're Longfellows), the size of my feet and the stuff by which they are shod have seen no end of ridicule. But do you know what makes it even more interesting? Someone asked me recently what I'm most self-conscious about. My honest response was my feet. It's been that way for a while, probably since I was 16. So why is it that even as a grown adult, it's inappropriate to remark on a guy's weight or skin tone (as pale as it might be), and a cardinal sin to even suggest "weight" in any of its forms in the presence of a woman, but nobody thinks twice when it comes to feet? Even today, I can count on my two hands the number of days it's been since someone has commented on their disproportionality.
And yet, I've learned a lot from all these "well-meaning" offenders. Because various aspects of my uncontrollable physique (let's not even get started on height) have been the butt of many a joke, my skin is a little tougher. I learned long ago that someone telling me, "Hey are you sick? You actually combed your hair today," might not be a senseless act of ridicule. I learned to laugh when someone tries to walk around with their shoes entirely inside my own, and even help them out when they wanted the "perfect item for a clown costume." I learned there are things beyond your control that others find humorous – perhaps because it helps them find a common ground, or perhaps because, in their mind, it's just not that big of a deal.
But that's what happens when you've got big feet.
So, to all my easily-offended friends, I only lament: "Would that you also had big feet!!"
