Forever Feet First
I wear a size 10 triple D shoe. Believe me, I did not sign up for this. For as long as I can remember, I have always had rather large feet.
In high school, my then-boyfriend called my feet “boxes”. In my college days, in the beautiful foothills of Charlottesville, Virginia, the man I later married told me (on our first date!) that he could not believe how big my feet were in the hiking boots I was sporting. God bless him; he married me and my feet anyway!
You see, I was born “feet first”. So, I guess my big ole’ feet are pretty important to me. After all, they are the means by which one goes places, aren’t they? And many places I have been and so, thanks to my feet, here is my story…
When I say I was born feet first, this is true. I was actually born in a car in the deep, sultry heat of Tucson, Arizona where my dad was stationed in the U.S. Air Force. When mom’s water broke, the car mom and I were in made it to the hospital parking lot, but my mother did not get to experience the cozy, 1958-style hospital birthing room. My mother says that somewhere in Tucson is a very kind man whose left hand is likely still twisted into a pretzel shape. This was the life line that my mother had while she gave birth to me in the back seat of a pink Chevrolet. He was a milkman, the kind who delivered good ole’ glass bottles full of cold milk to your front door. Only because of his kind heart, he helped deliver more than milk that day!
Being that I was a double footling breach baby, born in a car, I came out screaming!! “They” all raced me off into the hospital hoping I would live through the trauma and my poor mom was left lying in the back seat of the car, wondering if she would have to just walk herself on home to her other two children.
The supervising doctor finally approached the car, witnessing a rather messy and awkward scene and ordered his staff to help my mom.
After that, in the hospital coffee shop, the late arrival doctor reviewed in his head the strange, painful and somewhat miraculous delivery. He was angry with the father of this new baby, as this dad was, in his mind, disgracefully absent from his wife and baby during this traumatic event.
He blurted out to the other doctor whom he did not know and who happened to be at the delivery: “I cannot believe the father of this child is nowhere to be seen. What a jerk! It’s simply dishonorable”.
Well, that was then the other physician, who had delivered the baby, quietly disagreed and murmured, “Uh, well, actually…I am the baby’s father!”
My dad, John A. Colwell, MD, PhD and an internist, not an OB/GYN, had lovingly, methodically and successfully brought me into this world. My dad was so composed throughout the tough birth, the lead doctor never fathomed that he might be the baby’s father.
Thank to my sweet, intelligent, calm father, I safely came into this world feet first. He and my mom tell everyone that I have been running fast ever since. Few would disagree.
Often people ask me where I get my extreme high energy level. I just say, “I was born this way”. If they only knew.
—Karen
Karen Reid has long been a writer of stories and a keeper of journals as well as a keen observer of life. She is also an avid gardener, a voracious reader, a passionate photographer, an attentive mom of two grown men, a good wife to her college sweetheart, a past (pretty good) tennis player, a past Sunday school teacher, and a person who has worked hard for her community. Karen loves the Erma Bombeck quote: “When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would have not a single bit of talent left and could say, ‘I used everything you gave me’.” She continues to embrace all God gave her and hopes you will as well!