My Daddy is Rolling Over in His Grave…

No question – my daddy was a man’s man.  With a nickname like “King Kong,” what else could he be?  A friend of his once told me, “Your Daddy was the most agreeable man I ever knew.  If you wanted to eat, he’d eat; if you wanted to drink, he’d drink; if you wanted to dance, he’d dance; and if you wanted to fight, he’d fight.”  In rodeos around Florida Daddy rode bulls and steer wrestled.  He once threw a steer in 1.8 seconds, a state record.  After the rodeos, the cowboys would race each other on foot, betting on the outcome.  Because of his size, the newcomers would always bet against Daddy.  But Daddy was sneaky fast for forty yards.  He gave out at forty-one yards, but he outran everyone for forty.  He won a lot of money that way.

Daddy did not back down.  Some men working cows with Daddy absconded with his favorite dog.  He and my Uncle Pete went to get the dog.  When they drove up, the dog was on the front porch.  Daddy ran up, grabbed him, and ran back to the truck.  The men inside the house pulled their guns and began shooting at him.  Daddy yelled to Uncle Pete, “Start the truck, start the truck!”  Pete needed no encouragement, but had the truck started and moving when Daddy jumped in.  As I said, it was his favorite dog.

Why, then do I think my Daddy must be rolling over in his grave?  I am his only surviving child, his youngest son, the caretaker of his legacy and his heritage.  I did something that would have shocked him.

I got a pedicure. 

My daughters and my wife pestered me for years to get a pedicure, usually after seeing my feet at the beach.  I saw nothing wrong with my feet; they have served me well for many decades.  There are cracks on the bottom and callouses on the side.  My toes do look like a battlefield, but they have endured much marching, walking, and being stepped on by cows.  But my son and my sons-in law have gotten pedicures, telling me it is normal for a man to receive such treatment now.   But somehow, I could not imagine King Kong Smith getting a pedicure.

One day, out of town, my wife suggested again that I get a pedicure.  To tell the truth, my feet hurt; winter is always a hard time because the cracks and fissures become more pronounced.  Being out town made the decision easier, plus there was the safety of my wife getting one beside me.

We went online, and booked a session, selecting the “Passion Flower” option.  When we arrived, a very young, tiny woman came to get me and seated me on what looked like a throne.  It was a massage chair.  She showed me how to turn it on and control the heat.  Within seconds, I was ready to skip the feet treatment and just sit in the chair.  Heat flowed, knobs rolled, and I was punched by electronic fingers.  The thrones of heaven, I decided, were massage chairs.

This very nice lady told me to take off my shoes and socks, then filled the basin at the foot of the chair with moderately hot water.  She stopped me from putting my feet in so she could add the mix of “Passion Flowers.”  I guess the flowers were to make my feet smell better (anything would be an improvement).  She began to massage my feet and my toes.  No one besides my wife had touched my feet and toes since I was a baby.  It wasn’t sexual at all; it was a tender touch that felt luxurious.  Then she put some oil on my calves and massaged them.  To my Baptist way of thinking anything that felt this good must be a sin.

I do take my faith seriously.  I wondered if there was something wrong with enjoying something so much.  Then I remembered that Jesus had his feet washed by a woman, who broke an expensive bottle of perfume to show her love.  She dried his feet with her hair.  When a Pharisee condemned him and her, Jesus rebuked him: “She has done a beautiful thing for me.”  Maybe if the Pharisee had gotten a pedicure, he wouldn’t have been so onery. 

The very nice lady did ask me if I wanted nail polish on my toes.  I drew the line there.  That might be alright for some men, but not for the son of King Kong. 

After a very enjoyable forty-five minutes, it was time to put my socks and shoes back on and descend from the throne.  My feet felt better than they had in decades.  I decided a pedicure might just be a gift from heaven.

Even if it makes my father roll over in his grave.