Most people have feet attached to the very ends of their legs. I happen to belong to that portion of the population and am rather happy that nature decided to place me in the company of the majority. If the feet and face were on the same level, my face would be in constant danger of being seriously disfigured by being scraped along the sidewalk while my feet were in the process of walking or running. I would not feel comfortable doing that.
In spite of their humble location on the body, they have some very important functions. They, of course, can be used to provide locomotion to their owner but they can be used to provide their owner several other services. For example, they can be used to kick footballs, soccer balls, tin cans, stones, pebbles and the shins of opponents and enemies. Furthermore, they allow their owner not only to walk, but also to run, jump, dance, power bicycles, drive automobiles, climb stairs, shimmy and take part in athletic events, a use that some of us generally eschew. Another important use occurs if the attached person has an itchy shin. The affected individual can stand on the itchy leg and, with the foot of the other leg scratch the bothersome itch. Again, score one for Mother Nature.
Our feet have been shaped by nature not only to support our upright bodies but also stabilize them. To that end she gave each foot a set of toes, which not only help stabilize the body but also provide an element of traction. What a clever enhancement! In an effort to make the toes more serviceable, five were placed on the front of each foot and arranged in numerical order (don’t ask me what their numerical order is but since there were five, nature must have counted them out in some sequence.) Furthermore, these toes are placed more or less in the direction of their owner’s forward progress, allowing the pedestrian to proceed in that direction until she(he) encounters an obstacle, changes his(her) mind or spots a person ahead that he wishes to avoid.
Early humans were wont to walk with nothing between their feet and the harsh surface of the earth. I am profoundly concerned about the health and wellbeing of their feet although, since none of them is still around, I suspect my concerns are unneeded. How, I wonder, did they so walk without stubbing their prehistoric toes or damaging their equally prehistoric feet. I am sure that they often encountered repulsive, slimy, gooey, sickening substances that met their feet and oozed between their toes and left them in a state of deadening queasiness and biliousness. I don’t envy them their lots in life.
Clearly, at some point one of our prehistoric ancestors grew annoyed at aching feet slathered in disgusting slime with mud and goo oozing between the toes and decided to do something about it. She (he) shrouded her (his) feet in some kind of protective covering like animal skin, dried leaves, oyster shells or oil cloth held tight with native vines. Eventually his(her) cave-mates, growing tired of hooting, sniggering and making disparaging remarks, began to recognize the wisdom of the foot-covering idea and began to imitate it. Eventually, the practice was widespread. Almost certainly one of the inventor’s contemporaries industrialized the process and grew very wealthy from it.
Modern feet are usually shrouded in protective foot-covering objects, such as shoes, although slippers, clogs, paper, silly putty, animal skins, onion skins and palm leaves might be substituted. Shoes must be maintained in order for them to provide gainful service to the feet of their owners. For example, they must be polished. This is a tedious job, best done by someone who has a keen eye for colors, since, so I am told by my loving wife, there is more than one shade of brown or black, the colors in which all of my shoes come. I have difficulty distinguishing yellow from purple, much less shades of the same color. I ask, with a desperate pleading look if she will help, which means, of course, that I want her to do it. She agrees. I married wisely.
Feet are not very pretty objects. At least they are mine aren’t. They seem to be about as old as I am. This makes sense since I can’t ever remember being without them. I have tried to be kind to them, never say cross words to them except when they ache or try to go in the wrong direction or otherwise misbehave. They need very little servicing although the toenails need to be trimmed on occasion. I don’t enjoy clipping them because they have become rather difficult to reach from up here. It seems that my toes are farther away or my arms have grown shorter. A simple life, it would appear, was not meant to be endured by me and other witless life-forms.
I have stumbled and plodded on my feet for a very long time. However, I am not quite ready to turn them in. I am not sure that they have much trade-in value anyway. So, it appears that they will serve me for a while longer. They have helped me to stand my ground and, when that stance has put me in danger, allowed me to beat a hasty retreat. It’s a choice between courage and common sense. I am pleased to report that common sense has been my choice every time.