Barefoot in the Park—And What I Should Have Done

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After my early morning writing sessions, I generally walk around a park, an excursion I refer to as my sanity walk. Depending on how pressed for time (or sanity) I am, this can take anywhere from twenty minutes to an hour. This morning, I passed a guy next to a picnic table, prone in a position of prayer. On the table were some books. What caught my eye were his bare feet. It was chilly this morning, about 60°F (16°C) and I imagined the concrete was cold against his feet. Though an inveterate heathen myself, I thought it would be rude to interrupt his prayers and ask about his feet. On my next loop around the park, I saw he was vertical. He was still without shoes. “Excuse me,” I asked. He turned to me, not sure what I wanted. “I noticed your feet are bare. Do you needs shoes?” I felt like an idiot asking such an obvious question. His answer surprised me. “Oh, no. I’d fall asleep if I wore socks. But thank you for your concern. It’s sweet of you to ask.” I figured he was a damn fool, but he was of age—I’d guess about twenty-five—and within his rights to say “no thank you.” I confirmed that he didn’t need shoes. I asked if wanted a jacket, which he also declined. We wished each other a good day and parted ways. I wish now I’d offered him breakfast. I could have brought him back something hot easily enough. He might have declined that as well, but I could have asked. He didn’t appear to be under the influence of drugs or alcohol. But he must have been homeless. I hope there’s a church group looking out for him better than I did.