Bigfoot, small foot

The legend of Bigfoot lives on in American folklore, and although I don’t know for sure if the big and hairy creature actually exists in the wild, I do believe in big foot, or at least big feet. I live with a bunch of them. (Big and hairy bigfooted creatures, that is.)

My husband and sons tower over me by eight to 10 inches. They all sport feet that hover around size 11 or larger so there’s no shortage of Bigfoots at our house.

I line their shoes up on a shelf by the back door. It’s a morning ritual. Their lengthy sneakers surpass the width of the shelf. They hang over the edge, barely defying gravity. A centimeter more and I think they’d teeter totter their way to the floor.

We live in a two-story house and I used to be able to distinguish my husband’s upstairs footsteps from our sons’. His were heavier and broader. Big feet make big clomping sounds. Then, one by one, the boys joined him in big foot status. I no longer know who is awake and walking (stomping) around upstairs because their stomps are practically indistinguishable.

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