Grass beneath our toes

I let my two year old take off his shoes on the playground.

I might regret this later, if he begins refusing shoes in public or if an errant piece of glass comes his way. 


But I want him to feel the roughness of the wood chips underfoot, the cool plastic slide and the damp caress of grass.  I want him to feel the coarseness, the toughness of his feet when he comes inside after a good barefoot romp--the satisfaction of washing off afterwards and the confidence that part of you is strong. 

I'm still my father's daughter. 


ivrcti said…
I am so proud of ya'll!
julis said…
and a poet, my dear.

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