FOOTPRINTS EVERYWHERE
[The following is a story I wrote last night for our Kids' Mass - today - the Second Sunday in Advent - Year B. The theme was "Prepare the Way." There was a long brown cardboard trailer down the main aisle with lots of tiny footprints on it - with kids' names on the footprint. Prayers and readings featured the 7th Grade religious education class.]
Looking
backwards, he figured it started way back
in the 7th grade.
He was now 67
years of age. He was finally retired. He
now had time to look at stuff in lots of cardboard boxes he had stored in his
basement. It was time to get rid of stuff he had saved all through his life.
Paging through
some old notebooks – he found hundreds
and hundreds of tiny drawings of footprints. Tiny doodles – tiny drawings of
footprints - in pen or pencil - populated the tops of the pages in those note
books.
He smiled. Wow, I was doodling footprints way back then? And ever since – in classrooms, in boring meetings, in restaurants on napkins,
when stuck in doing a crossword puzzle, he would doodle footprints - off to the side of a page in a
magazine. Footprints were his default
doodle.
He noticed one notebook which had hundreds and hundreds of tiny footprints in it - also had his name - as well as - 7th
grade - written on the cover.
He asked himself, “Maybe that’s
when this habit and hobby of drawing lots and lots of feet – on pages –
started. But why? Why do I draw all
these tiny footprints.”
That was his
question.
He was the
youngest of 5 kids and not only were his mom and dad dead – but also this 2
sisters and 2 brothers. He was the only one left – so he had really no one to
ask why he doodled these drawings of little footprints in these note books.
That is, if they knew he did this – they might know why.
Footprints? Why?
Why? Why?
Why did he draw
footprints all his life?
With time on his
hands – with his 3 kids finished college and on their own – with his wife
working part time at Macy’s in the jewelry department – he decided to do the
research about drawing footprints. Why?
Why? Why?
He remembered
reading his first novel when he was in the 6th grade: Robinson Crusoe. He got a copy out of
the library and started reading it again. It was one of his favorite books when
he was a kid.
He came to the
page - the moment – when Robinson Crusoe – all alone – one morning - on an
island - spots a footprint in the sand.
Uh oh!
Reading that ….
Picturing that scene …. Was that the
reason why he started to draw footprints in his note books?
Mind you…. when
he was in the 7th grade – was
a long, long time ago.
This question of
motive – this question of “Why?” – this single, solitary, 3 letter word, “Why?”
opened up all kinds of memories and wonderings.
Question marks are shaped liked hooks. They are like hard iron crowbars. They can pry open a
lot of doors – locked desk doors – blocked trapdoors.
He asked himself
again, “Why have I drawn tiny footprints all my life?”
He put on a
winter coat and went for a late afternoon winter’s walk.
It would soon be
getting dark, but as he looked down at the ground – he saw some footprints – in
the snow.
“Wow,” he
thought. “There must be a billion, trillion footprints on this planet – from
all the people who walked the globe. Of course the snow covers them. The rain
washes them away. Time erases so much.”
“Footprints!” He
wondered, “Was this realization the reason why he started drawing footprints in
his white school note books?”
From his note books he knew he was thinking about footprints from way back when he was in the 7th grade.
That was long
before computers and iPads and all these electronic gadgets.
He wondered about
what will the kids of today be looking at 60 years from now? What will last –
if everything is electronic?
Footprints.
He looked up and
noticed the moon starting to appear in the evening sky. He remembered that
first moon landing Buzz Aldrin put his foot down on the moon July 20, 1969 –
and how that footprint was forever engraved in his brain.
Next, that word
“footprints” triggered thoughts about the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center
in New York – September 11, 2001 - being hit – being destroyed. He remembered
now – now that he was thinking about footprints – that they needed to mark out
the footprint of each of those two big buildings – if they were going to
rebuild and start again.
Footprints are
important.
He remembered a
family wedding some 20 years ago or so – when he found himself sitting with an
old uncle – in the lobby of the wedding reception place. The music was too loud
– and nobody could really hear each other. So the old folks complained. They came
to the wedding to watch and see – meet and talk - with each other while the young
people came to dance and party.
In their
conversation his uncle used the word “footprint.”
His uncle said, “I was looking at you in there at the dinner.
You have your daddy’s footprints all over you: the way you smile, the way you
gesture, the way you talk, the way you walk. Wow.”
He had never
heard that use of the word "footprint" before.
Besides his dad, that comment from his uncle got him really wondering whose
footprints were on him.
He thought of a
buddy from when he was in the marines in Vietnam. Someone said, “If you have 5
friends in a life time – 5 friends – in the deepest sense of the word – not
just acquaintances – whom many people label friends – you’re lucky.”
Bud was a buddy
and both were always together all through their days in Vietnam. He figured Bud
would be his best man in his wedding for sure – when he got home – after their
time of duty – after their time of fighting.
Bud’s footprint
was all over him – especially when Bud got killed by a sniper – just one week
before they were to be out of there – out of Vietnam.
He was able to go
home – his time was up – as well – for the funeral.
All through the
years – he would remember all the long conversations they had – their fears,
their worries, their hopes for the future.
Bud’s footprint remained
on him big time – not only on the Vietnam Memorial Wall in Washington D.C. –
but on the Memory Wall in his soul.
As he was walking
in the snow that early evening he wondered who else left their footprints on his life.
There was Mr.
Jackson – a baseball coach they had in high school. Whether you started or sat
on the bench – Mr. Jackson made your team – as a person – as an influence – as
a footprint that was cemented into the permanency of your life.
There was Mrs. Trotto – an English teacher their senior year in high school –
who taught him to write – and to love to write.
As he walked – he
wondered – did he draw any footprints in his notebook during his high school
senior year? What Mrs. Trotto said was so
unboring – so why would he draw – why would he doodle footprints?
As he walked – he
thought of his grade school religious Ed teacher – Mr. Tex – who was from
Texas. He made Jesus so real for us kids. He would love to say, “I’m like John
the Baptist. I’m preparing the way for you to meet the Lord.” Then he would add: “It’s your job in life as
well – to be like John the Baptist. You’re going to be with – you’re going to
have people experience you – and you might be the only Bible – the only
religious Ed – they’ll ever be in touch with.
Mr. Tex didn’t
use the word, “footprint” – but as he walked that afternoon – on that
December slightly snowy street - he
realized, Mr. Tex, Mrs. Trotto, Coach Jackson, his dad, his mom, Bud, his army
buddy, all left their footprint on him.
And at one point
in his cold walk – he stopped – and looked up to God in the heavens and said,
“Thank you God! Thank you all you folks up there. Thank you for leaving your
footprint on my life.”
Then he walked on – leaving footprints on the ground – but they were disappearing into the dark as he headed back home in the dark.
He realized his
wife would be home by now – wondering where he was and where his footprints
took him.
