FOOTINGS

“Hitch your wagon to a star”,  advised Emerson.   Robert Browning, who owned a book of Emerson’s poetry, said  “Ah, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp, or what’s a heaven for?”   Hitching, reaching and grasping . . . all good, but where to begin?

 

 

 

FOOTINGS

As a kid, I lived for those occasional summer mornings when I’d wake to the sound of a digger.  There was no greater fascination for our neighborhood gang.  From high atop the sand piles we’d stare, mesmerized by men who had the clout to create a house.  I  grew impatient though, when the setting of cinder block and the pounding of nails had to wait while the footings were poured.  I didn’t know then that, without those little concrete sidewalks underneath it all, the whole house could fall down.

 

One August, a few years back, my sand pile climbing had been sidelined by a foot injury.  Until then, I’d always paid sparse attention to my feet.  Sporadic toenail clipping might save the cost of new socks but, where I was concerned, did little for the feet.  Evidently, I’m not alone in this regard.  The multi-billion dollar shoe industry, where style outpaces function, gives testament to the perceived shortcomings of our feet.  Maligned and misunderstood, the lowly foot runs near the back of the pack in the competition of body parts.

 

A month after my surgery, I was camped on my father’s couch while paying him a long overdue visit.  Plagued with arthritis, dad wasn’t very good on his feet.  Around bedtime, he brought me a pillow, as I measured his progress down the hall by the creeping thump and roll of his walker.  I was struck, and humbled, by the paradox of an eighty-seven year old man caring for his son.  Clint Eastwood said, ‘know your limitations’.  During the course of my recovery, I had become painfully aware of mine.  But I was even more impressed by the courage that my dad needed to get through his daily routine.

 

Over the past few months I’d been treading along a small portion of my father’s path.  The loss of mobility that frequently comes with age, or an injury for that matter,  limits our energy, as well as our reach.  The careless activities that full function allows become death defying acts for the foolhardy.   In reality, pain and discomfort can set limits to our imagination and  horizons, as they slowly chip away at the spirit.  All of this detriment stands poised against those who, for a short time or a lifetime, must do without good footing.

 

Through my brief disability, I learned what my father probably already knew.  Like so much in life, what seems a hardship is often a gift.  The underpinnings of our lives are mostly invisible and out of mind, yet without them, we’re doomed to fall short –  often, landing hard.  Life’s footings can be found at the ends of our legs, but also in the family, friends and  loved ones that our lives are ultimately built upon.  They are where star hitching begins.