Sandi Falconer
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Recently, I was asked to think about my father’s toes. It makes me smirk and giggle when I do. I picture them clear as day. White, high arches, bony joints and tufts of black hair on all his toes. Toe nails neatly clipped, never long, and his big toe nail cracking ever so slightly on his right foot. Over the years, I have watched with fascination how my now 80-year-old father takes his socks – expensive dress socks, white sport socks or Costco wool socks – and threads the middle of the sock between each of his toes, rubbing gently, every day. This, he tells me, is to keep the toes healthy and put some vitality and energy into your feet. You must look after your feet, my father says, treat them well and they will look after you. After his exhaustive routine, he rubs his feet. He starts from the heel, cupping his hands around this foot, and pulls “the negative energy” out of his foot. He does this three times on each foot. After each pull, he shakes his hands and lets the negative energy dissipate into the air. He carefully unrolls his socks and gently places them on his feet. He has a reverence for life and for his body.
My father’s toes have been places. They have touched oceans: Atlantic, Pacific, Indian and Southern. They have walked, loved and tug-boated on the waters of Lake Superior in Ontario. They have climbed mountains, walked through forests and climbed stairs to temples in ancient villages. They have travelled on airplanes, rickety buses, motorcycles and boats. They have cycled across Canada solo, steered kayak rudders in the B.C. Broken Islands, danced in Mexico and dangled while parasailing. They have immersed themselves in frigid, glacial lakes and scuba dived in Waterton Lake. They have been scrunched up in skates too small while fighting hard to get the puck in the net and they have put skates on to coach young boys into fine gentlemen. These toes have hung upside down in yoga headstands, downward dog and sun salutation daily for over 30 years. Those toes have done triathlons and road races. These toes jostled in stirrups while riding galloping horses. They pressed down on the gas while clearing farm lands. They have walked through frozen land covered in steel-toe boots while surveying in Central and Northern Alberta. They have driven old cars, trucks, tractor and dump trucks. They have been on roofs and deep down into cellars. They have stood at drafting tables and sat tapping at client meetings while designing architectural structures. They have stood in front of students to teach architecture at schools and universities in Canada and Southeast Asia.
They have loved and slept beside the same woman for over 50 years. They have walked daughters and a son down the aisle and they have danced at weddings. They have stood anxiously in the delivery room watching grandchildren being born and stood firm while he held new life, in awe of those that come before and after. They have waited patiently by bedsides with friends and loved ones honouring their last wishes and holding their hands. They have walked through churches to funerals while he cried over the loss of friends. They have been toe to toe in deep hugs and toe to toe in fierce arguments. They have walked away from situations that felt not right and toward new places and people.
They have shuffled slowly between projects and bounced and danced when in the creative flow. They have been rooted to the ground in the deep, dark, scary places where fear takes hold and they have taken tiny steps forward to move in new directions, away from fear and into the world of uncertainty with optimism.
They have stretched out on footstools while taking in the classics – Robbie Burns, Mark Twain, Robertson Davies – and across the stage, performing in theatre productions. They have tapped while learning how to play the fiddle and the guitar. They have pounded the pavement on political campaign trails, supporting a man who was not afraid to knock on doors and discuss with people new changes and new ideas.
Art and creativity flow through his toes: standing in front of easels painting, drawing and carving figures, standing in front of music stands with the raw sound of beginning notes and circling and splatter painting art pieces which hang in Dean’s offices at universities.
They have dug themselves into the Earth and stood tall. They have crossed those feet underneath to rest. They have walked and carried him far and wide.
My father’s toes, looked after so well by him, have taught me a lot about life. Those toes have taught me to walk and engage with the world with open eyes and a kind heart. Those toes have taught me to look after my toes and treat them with reverence. They have shown me to hold family and friends close, toe to toe, and to honour each individual in the place they are in life. They have taught me about creativity and not being afraid to take chances. They have taught me that life is not about money or success – it is about engaging in a full life. They have taught me to stand up for what I believe and never to be stuck in one place, to keep moving step by step. They have taught me about mentorship and community. My toes have a resemblance to his. I rub them daily, and maybe my toes will look like his toes when I am 80 years old.
Minus the hair.
Laura Strachan lives in Calgary.