The Leg Casts

When I was young, my mother would tell me about the casts I wore as a baby to reshape my clubbed feet. They were there for my first two years.  She told me that once my skin was pinched as they set the cast. I screamed bloody murder until Mother and Dad soaked the cast off, relieving the broken skin.  Of course, I do not remember any casts or broken skin. If life was difficult for me, I forgot it.

I do remember clodhopper shoes to fashion an arch in each foot. They were like heavy work boots and would have slowed me down if I had ever had any speed. My older brothers were always faster than I, so being slower did not matter much.

Naturally my physical development was delayed. I was lousy at catching balls and worse at hitting them.

I remember a tennis clinic when I was five with dozens of kids and parents watching. I could not hit the ball. 

“Keep your eye on the ball,” the tennis pro said as I whiffed again.

Everyone watched praying for me to connect. I remember thinking that I could easily keep my eye on the ball, but what did that have to do with my racket hitting the ball?  I swung away and missed as a big groan rumbled through the crowd.  I was lucky to be walking and was years away from any eye-hand coordination. Unembarrassed, I was a happy kid. At least I remember it that way.

I will never forget the time I caught my first fly ball in baseball. The balls had always bounced out of my glove. Then one evening the baseball hit the pocket of my glove …. and stayed. I still feel the surprise.

 Eventually I caught up and played two sports in college. Often I reflect on the natural youthful resilience of those early years before self- consciousness made it painful. My brothers and the neighborhood kids spared me by never teasing me.  I did not learn that resilience; it was just there.

Wick Williams