The other night, Mary noticed the rough patches on my feet. The meteoric callouses which tell the tale of triple ball changes and time steps, cleats and turf burn, strutting in stilettos, and mile after mile of treading, bitterly stood in contrast to Mary's perfect little paws. She turned to me and said, 'yucky.'
Similar to other adjectives in her growing vocabulary, I started to lay the framework for the word a while ago. Touching her diaper pail: yucky. Sticking her finger in her nose: yucky. Digging through the wood chips at the park to get to the mud: also yucky. But at this point, she's claimed the concept as her own, iterating within its synonyms.
The stingrays at the aquarium: 'ew.'
The snail at the library: 'gross.'
My feet: 'yucky.'
In thinking about the yuck factor and Mary's more or less natural ability to discern ick from okay, I remembered reading about the notion of disgust in Michael Pollan's book, Omnivore's Dilemma. He states, "while much of what people deem as disgusting is culturally determined, there are certain things that disgust us all. Disgust is intuitive microbiology."
Perhaps knowing this, I've tried to keep Mary away from the disgusting. Like the sad and the scary, disgust is an emotion that I don't want my little girl to feel. If I can keep the cold out, turn the light on, wipe a tear away, unstick the 'stuck', or avoid the snails, then I will. I want her sweet smile and innocent laughter to last a lifetime.
I want Mary to grow up in a world that is yummy, not yucky.
And I want her adventures and explorations to reveal beauty, present in people of all races, and religions, and climbs.
But naturally, I can't always be there. And although I will try to show Mary tracks that are safe, I know she will wander from my charted path. She will end up scraped and scratched; her pristine little feet will get bumped and bruised; and she will have to find her own hero, much like the strong women who have come before her. I in turn will have to look to my Mom and Dad to once again extinguish my fears.
I just hope and pray, that whatever callous Mary carries with her, isn't as yucky as it appears. I hope it is filled with the sweet memories associated with mine: bows, victories, breathtaking views, proud steps down the aisle, and ultimately a finish line.
Lo.
