The other week-end I gave my Pop (dad) a pedicure. At almost 86, he has trouble bending down to tend to his feet.
I slowly removed his sandals and sat beside him on a small stool. He was worried that I would hurt my back by sitting this way….
Yours nails I cut carefully
and removed old skin
then massaged cream gently
along each of your feet
You thanked me for what you called a
‘laborious task’, to me it gave
to help see to the feet of my
father who was once a
As I massaged the cream
into your skin
I thought of where
your feet had been
These feet that were bare and told to stand in snow in a European Winter.
These feet that walked to the timber pile to chop wood for your step – father, the fire you were not allowed to be warmed by.
These feet that had to walk up the staircase where you were told to eat your meal, alone, whilst the rest of the family ate downstairs in comfort at the table.
These feet that gave you the strength to escape from Czechoslavakia during the War, to cross mountains, hide on trains, trudge through forests, swim through rivers and nearly have your life ended twice by a gun held at you by the KGB.
These feet that brought you to Australia, to start a new life, to build a house for a family that you knew you would one day have, though you had no carpentry skills.
These feet that ran and played shuttlecock with us, the times that we went camping.
These feet that walked next to me on the day that I was wed.
These feet now older
that hold your struggling
legs and body
these feet are not a ‘laborious chore’
to me, my father
These feet have travelled many miles
through great adversity
saw you start a business
accomplish many things
I shall tend to your feet
as I love you
I shall tend again, again