I do not have pretty feet. They are long rectangles that are the same size as Mr. Hercules'. (we found that out this weekend) They also have thick scars running down the sides of them where I had surgery on them when I was in eighth grade.

98% of my days, I don't think even think about those scars. They've become a part of my feet, and I love my imperfections. Sometimes my feet hurt when the weather changes, and I can't bend my big toes very far, because the bones were cut and fused back together, but even then I don't remember that it was because of the foot surgeries.

Mr. Hercules didn't even notice my ugly feet for quite a long time, which should really be quite shocking, because I am a Barefoot Earth Child as often as possible, and he tickle tortures as often as possible.

I remember how incredibly painful those surgeries were; waking up in the middle of the surgery, and not handling the pain medicine well and having to get shots instead, and recognizing for sure that I have a VERY low pain tolerance compared to most people. I remember my best friend Zach staring at me when I came to school in a wheelchair instead of the crutches I promised I would come strolling in on (apparently he had a fear of wheelchairs? Not sure, but he didn't talk to me for a week. After that, he would push my wheelchair around, carry my books, and be Zach again).

As painful as things like that are, it's amazing that we don't think about them all the time, that we let them pass and become part of us. And then, one day, we don't even think about them anymore. We even forget the scars are there.