When I entered first grade I was a dyslexic, pigeon toed, buck toothed, chubby kid who needed glasses.
I was God's gift to bullies, scoring a perfect "10" on the "pick on me" scale. I mean hell, God could have just gifted me with 2 of those 5 attributes and a bully's cup would have runneth over. But five! I was a bully's wet dream, a winning ticket in powerball.
And pick on me they did.
I do have a diary about being bullied waiting in the wings, in my dairy drafts. But that's not what I want to talk about right now.
Well it is, sort of. . .
No . . . whell, yes. Sort of, I just want to talk about one of those attributes. But which one. Let's face it, if you rolled me up as an rpg character with those attributes, you'd toss "me," and roll again.
While several of those attributes deserve and will get special attention, eventually, the one this dairy is about is being Pigeon Toed

Just so we are on the same page and I don't have to explain the basics of the problem:
Pigeon toe, also called metatarsus varus, metatarsus adductus, in-toe gait, intoeing or false clubfoot, is a condition which causes the toes to point inward when walking. It is most common in infants and children under two years of age[1] and, when not the result of simple muscle weakness,[2] normally arises from one of three underlying conditions, a twisted shin bone, an excessive retroversion (femoral head is less than 15 degrees in the angle of torsion) resulting in the twisting of the thigh bone when the front part of a person's foot is turned in.
Severe cases are considered a form of clubfoot.[3]
http://en.wikipedia.org/...
Way back when, when cartoonists wanted to depict someone as stupid, the character would be drawn buck toothed and pigeon toed. (the fact I am dyslexic only added to that caricature)
This is not the cutesy, "I'm a widdle wost girl" image of knees in, toes in.
This is every time you set you foot down your toes point in.
Every time you are are just standing casually, not thinking, your toes point in. The problem can be so bad that you actually trip yourself while walking or running.
When I was three the decision was made to put me in leg braces to straighten out my feet and keep my toes from pointing in. They were the metal kind, that would not allow my knees to bend.
I remember being encouraged to walk in them, but refusing. Then doing as little as possible.
I remember sitting on the floor with my legs straight out in front of me. Or lying on my stomach with my legs straight out behind me.
I remember hating them.
And I remember identifying with the Easter Seals and March of Dimes poster children.

To me the little blond girl, standing stiff legged in braces, holding on to balancing rails, like 4 year Clara Jo Proudfoot, was me.
But the difference was, I did know how to walk. I could walk!. . . before. . . before they put me into those accursed things. After a few weeks in the "embrace" of the braces (and I'm really not sure how long it was) I got a hip infection.
Septic Hip
Infection of the hip joint in children
A septic hip is an infection within the hip joint. This is an uncommon problem, but it can occur in infants and young children. Septic hips are also called septic arthritis and infectious arthritis.
Children with a septic hip have bacteria within the hip joint. The bacteria accumulates as pus and becomes painful. Children with a septic hip require surgery to cure the infection. Treatment must proceed quickly to ensure there is no permanent damage to the hip joint.
http://orthopedics.about.com/...
Back in those days (1964-1965) parents were not allowed to stay in the hospital overnight with their children. I remember waking up in the middle of the night in Denver's Children's Hospital feeling all alone, scared and overwhelmed. I remember unanswered calls for my parents seeming to echo in the stark surroundings. The unfamiliar and scary shadows. I had with me my little brown Teddy, with black felt eyes to help blunt the fear and the loneliness. Teddy is with me still.
Once the infection was cleared up I went back home. Per doctor's orders I also went back into the leg braces. Once again after a few weeks of them (and again I don't know how long it was) I had another hip infection. So it was back to the hospital, the big scary x-ray machine, nurses I didn't know, the terror of waking up at night alone without Mommy or Daddy, nights that seemed far longer than they did at home. Teddy was there.
When this second infection cleared up I went home. The doctors wanted to put me into the leg braces for a third time and my father said "No."
I was now free of the the braces. I was normal. I could begin to do things my imposed sedentary lifestyle wouldn't allow me to do, including riding my trike down two steps on our front sidewalk and skinning my nose. (Hey, I thought it would work.)
With that "treatment" off limits my parents and my doctors began working on my shoes. All my shoes had to go to the cobbler before I could wear them. All of them had to have "tire treads" put on the bottom. The thinking was that this would keep my feet from "sliding" into a toe in position.
In this day and age and after the 70s when enterprising and eco responsible hippies were recycling tires and making them into the soles for sandals, this may not sound like a big deal, but this was the 60s. Like the 50s before it, conforming was the order of the day.
While the older members of the baby boom generation were experimenting with loud bold colors, challenging the status quo, demanding civil rights, in late 60s, we, the last of the boomers were pressed even harder to conform. In conformity the boat didn't rock, everything was safe, and all was right in the world.
What this meant for me became apparent on the playground. To leave any imprint on the playground sand that wasn't the wavy peaked lines of Keds, the Converse circle or the blank print of a mary jane, loafer or regular shoe was scandalous. As far as the first (and second) grade playground was concerned I wore tires for shoes. I was weird, and that wasn't good. I contracted a four year long case of the cooties.
What also became plain was that the tire treads weren't working.
I'm not sure who came up with the idea of ballet class. I think it was my Mom, because she was friends of the owner of the ballet school. The doctors didn't think it would work.
It took me a while to learn that first position was heals together, toes out and not toes together heals out. But Ms Young was patient and soon the toes turned out, and stayed out.
Ballet had stretched, strengthened and worked those muscles. By 3rd grade I didn't see the cobbler any more. Tire treads never again were put on my shoes. I could wear my shoes when I got them! I could be normal.
Well as normal as you can be changing from your school clothes to a ballet leotard and tights in the backseat of a 68 Pontiac Tempest, driven by your mom as you race to get to your ballet class on time. (and no one else in your elementary school, besides your little sister, took ballet) Once a week, 9 months out of the year for 6 years.
I still had the other 4 "pick on me" attributes to attend to. Ooops, make that five again. In first grade I played the accordion too.
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A little more . . .
My youngest son (born 1995) was also pigeon toed. A child who loved to run he would often trip himself and get really banged up.
We had hoped we could get a specialist to authorize physical therapy for him to strengthen and stretch out those muscles. But he would not. Besides giving us the "it will either clear up on it's own or it won't" unacceptable response, He also made a crack that I might be unhappy with my son and I couldn't send him back. It was by shear force of will that I didn't blow up at that doctor.
We needed the PT authorization because at that time we could not afford ballet lessons for him and needed insurance to pay for therapy. And I also thought, given what American men stupidly think about ballet, his brothers might unintentionally make it hard for him.
But leaving it alone was unacceptable to me as every day here I see adults and children walking around here pigeon toed and no one tried anything until the only answers were invasive and expensive. I also knew full well what worked for me and what failed.
Fortunately our money situation loosened a little bit. Our son was already 8 and still toe in, when we sent him to Tae Kwon Do. We didn't send him there thinking it would "cure" his pigeon toedness, but it exercised, stretched and strengthened those same muscles. He toes turned out, and have stayed out!
He is no longer pigeon toed.