Unfortunately, my parents, who were otherwise very loving, were the exact opposite. They felt going barefoot was dangerous and dirty and somehow beneath them, and they never let me out barefoot.  This was the ’70s, and every other kid in our apartment complex went out barefoot, and I envied them.

Finally, I took to sneaking out to go barefoot, and even rode my bike to a nearby shopping center to go barefoot (unbeknownst to my parents). I actually remember the wonderful feeling of cool tile floors under my feet at the supermarket, and the drug store, that was in the shopping center, By this time I was around 10, and the very early ’80s, and no one at those stores seemed to have a problem with my being there barefoot. (Except my parents, who never caught me!)

Now, at 51, although I am not a 100% barefooter (although I support them!), I make it a point to go barefoot a lot, and love doing it.  It goes to show suppressing something will not make it go away, especially when its something that gives people pleasure and happiness.