My family, though related holds many differences and contradictions, especially when it comes to feet. The feet of my father are tough and medium sized, the feet of a man. They provide him stability and are strong platforms that support him. My mother’s feet are small, soft and painted; ready to meet the world with everything to show. Pretty petite appendages contrast her spouse. My sisters are like that of my moms, though hers are strong, strong from the constant pounding of running, calloused from the trials of sport and fashion. My feet are like that of a soldiers; long semi-narrow and sturdy for use. Pounding away methodically to the rhythm of the world, my feet are like my fathers and my sisters. But the feet of my brother, oh the feet on that boy; his feet are “Like the feet of a gorilla” as my mom always says. They are long and wide, all over large with a smell to match. They are the prophecy of height and athleticism, the foreshadowing of a life yet to be lived, one full of fun, sports, glamour and fame. They tell a story the needs to be ciphered like a hard puzzle. They support him better than any of our feet, ready to spring into action at a moments notice.