Barefoot Soccer – One Big Mistake!
It seemed like a good idea at the time.
My youngest grandchild’s engaging smile and pleading eyes, imploring me to play soccer with him, were hard to resist. I’d observed him and his sister kick a small ball back and forth across the thick, shag rug in the living room, using the front door and a chair at the opposite end of the room as goals. Honestly, it looked like fun, and I wanted to play. What could possibly go wrong?
My grandson loves playing with balls of all shapes and sizes – baseballs, soccer balls, footballs, tennis balls, and one that lights up when it hits the floor. If he kept it low to the ground, the one ball he was permitted to play with inside was a little orange, plastic one, not much bigger than a tennis ball. It was beginning to lose air and quite soft.
Game on. Both of us happened to be barefoot. Being younger and more agile than I, my grandson quickly scored four points. Then, head-to-head, we both pulled back a foot and simultaneously went in for the kick. Our feet collided. Pain seared through my foot. Blinding pain!
I hobbled to the sofa and collapsed, attempting to control my reaction, mindful of the child’s concern.
Sensing his distress, I simply said, “We had an accident, and I hurt my foot. I’ll be okay. I’m sorry I can’t play anymore.” Opening my arms, he came in for a hug.
Shortly, four of my toes were swollen, purple, and throbbing. At home, I propped up my foot with a bag of slushy ice.
The pain, discoloration, and swelling continued for almost a week. Since Google seems to have all the answers, I typed “broken toe,” wondering if I should see a doctor. Receiving no satisfaction from Mr. Google, I made an appointment with a podiatrist. The diagnosis: one broken toe and several bruised tendons. The treatment plan: elevate the foot and wear a boot for two weeks.
While I was babysitting a few days later, a neighbor stopped by. He asked why I was wearing the boot. With my hand on the shoulder of the other player, I explained, “We were playing barefoot soccer, and I broke a toe.”
The neighbor turned to my grandson and asked, “Did you break your grandma’s toe?”
The child looked up but said nothing. “It was an accident,” I said. “Our feet bumped into each other. I’m fine.”
Words matter.
