The Women I Come From

I come from a long line of short, stocky, stubborn women with small feet.

Both my grandmothers and one of their sisters, my mother, and my great grandmother were on the petite side in height and the well rounded side in width. All shared small - in some cases - tiny feet. My great aunt Zelma's feet always reminded me of munchkin wear - she was a tiny woman and had to have her footwear custom made to accommodate her size and a permanent limp. She and her sister wore identical black, hook and eye shoes with low, chunky heels. My mother favored imitation discount store moccasins, they hung loosely on her chubby feet and curled up at the toes. I have racks and racks of shoes - some bargain brands, some designer names, everything from snappy summer sandals to three inch open toed heels to genuine leather flats - but my thin and fashion conscious lifestyle is a fading memory, now I'm never in anything but my trusty Nikes. I've never found the time or will to organize and dispose of my shoes decently and women with size five feet have become rare.

Until it got to me, childlessness had not been an option for these women. My mother produced three, my grandmother and her sister each had one - both girls - and in the case of my Aunt Zelma, her daughter faced the issue of infertility by promptly adopting a boy and a girl, a decision she claimed never to regret and her husband never celebrated. My great grandmother had two girls and a boy and my paternal grandmother bore an astonishing ten. Until it got to me, divorce had not been an option for these women. Aside from desertion by their husbands, the only exit from marriage was widowhood, a socially accepted state without the stigma of shame or failure attached. Back in the day, as people like to say now, marriages endured, if not always happily or for the right reasons. And until it got to me, not one of these women ever dreamed of setting one small foot outside their family to work or achieve a measure of independence - domesticity was not only highly prized, it provided an excellent cover for laziness, a secure place to hide, or both. Dirty laundry was never washed in the public square no matter the cause and in my family, women held religiously to the roles and rules they were assigned.

So much for short, stocky and small footed. The stubborn part is quite another matter, a horse of several different colors, you might say. It's a part of my gene structure every bit as noticeable as small feet but far more troublesome and annoying. Coming by it honestly is no consolation - I might can tell the difference between cheap shoes and their upscale cousins, but it's much trickier to see the difference between stubbornness and say, loyalty or persistence. I think the women I come from could have made this distinction but it would've meant making waves in an otherwise peaceful and predictable world and the rewards would've been, like their feet, small indeed and possibly turned up at the toes, misshapen, painful, and not worth the risk.

Small feet leave small footprints - harder to track and easily disappearing in the dust. The women I come from knew that as well. They stayed in their places, never imagining the world to come or that they were a dying breed. I think of them with every new pair of Nikes I bring home - short, stocky, stubborn women with small feet, doing the best they could with what they had despite oppression and hard times. For better or worse, these are the women I come from, for all their flaws and failings, for all their victories and vindications, they contributed to who I am, small feet, small stature, stubborn streak and all.