Men dressed in red high heels walking for a mile? Quite a sight, I assure you. A few days ago in honor of battered persons everywhere, there was a rally and (well, lets loosely call it) a "march" depicting the plight of women enduring abuse. Seeing the first few men arrive, then others approach in high heels was so comical. They'd teeter and sink into the grass as they hobbled along. All the while smiling and being great sports and feeling embarrassed but resolved. All of us bystanders enjoyed seeing these men trying to stablize themselves as they made the incremental stilted movements toward the courthouse steps to kick off the rally. Every woman knows the pain of walking in high high heels and it did us good to see men trying to navigate their paths. These shoes were already on too long, though incredibly, not near long enough. There was a mile to go yet.
One by one they gathered. One by one they made their way to the steps. Rows of men, in high heels is quite a sight. quite a sight indeed. These were brothers, fathers, friends, and, yes, spouses. I delicately add "spouses" knowing you can imagine the lovely spouse of one who has been abused in her past and has had to suffer right along with her through the grief and healing process. In my vewing, I began to see the real picture. I began to see the hidden pain. I began to see the message in it's fullest realization. Men imploring, imploring. "Please, please, not my daughter, not my sister, not my mother, not my friend. I will do anything to prevent this. I will make myself look silly, I will allow myself this humiliation, my effort to support, comfort, uplift, console, to endorse, and generate awareness for her plight."
What beauty. I have never seen more beautiful legs in my entire life.
Walk a mile in her shoes, they did. And they've got the bandages to prove it.
