A Mile in Her Moccasins

Her eyes fight the day. The bright light that creeps through the window is only a reminder of another struggle. It would be nice to lay here with the covers over her head and pretend she never existed in the first place but she knows that any time now hungry little voices will be calling out for breakfast. Dana rises slowly and stretches before she pulls on her worn bathrobe. Her feet slide all too easily into the men’s slippers that she picked up last month at a second hand store. She is long past fussy.

She peeks into the tiny overcrowded room at three angelic faces. “My God,” she wonders, “how could he have just walked away?” No matter what the cost, she will ensure they are safe in this all too cruel and judgemental world. Pride always goes before the fall she tells herself. She is not proud any longer; she learned her lessons in humility well.

The chill in the air warns her of a rough winter ahead. This is hard enough now and she wonders what she can do to prepare. Her parents were well off but she would never ask her father for anything. He is such a self-righteous prick. He is always quick to point out mistakes and inferiorities no matter how insignificant they are. Deep inside she feels the tension. She hates him. Her mother never had any backbone; she sat quietly by without a thought of her own. Dana slams the empty cupboard door as she feels the years of anger and frustration slither to the surface. “Who said life is fair?” she demands.

This is the last bit of oatmeal left. She has a few cans of soup and some homemade noodles her neighbour had given her. Dana loves and adores Patsy because Patsy is one of the few genuine people in her world. Patsy always smiles and never treats Dana any different from all the other neighbours. Patsy knows Dana is a struggling mother without a job or income other than her monthly state support check. She does what she can to help her. Patsy’s husband, on the other hand, believes that Dana’s children ought to be placed with the state. He resents the fact that he cannot have children and someone like her has three beautiful children. It makes him sick to see the children run around in faded worn clothing.

Dana spoons the oatmeal in three chipped bowls just as the children walk into the kitchen. “Slippers!” she calls and they all hustle back to their room understanding that mom is serious. Dana always makes sure they dress warm enough to avoid getting chills and illnesses. She cannot afford cough syrup. Two years ago, she went almost two weeks without a proper nights sleep as the children coughed all night. “Strange world,” she ponders, “one can get state help for antibiotics but not cough syrup.”

The children scramble to the table like little birds waiting for mom to feed them. Dana moves around the table and gives them their traditional morning bear hug. She loves their giggles. That is just about the only thing that brings any joy at all to Dana’s heart. As Dana shares the remainder of the brown sugar and milk between the three, she thinks out her plans for the day.

Her first priority is to go over to Mr. Ziegler’s farm and gather the potatoes left in the field. He is one of the few farmers around that leaves ten percent of his crop in the field as a tithe. Anyone in need of food can come and gather the remains after the harvesting. The other farmers are not so generous. They believe they work hard for their needs and so people should pay their way in life. They package bags of bruised and damaged vegetables and sell them at half price at stands along the farm roads. If not sold they are dumped back on the field and mulched in for compost.

Hurriedly, she dresses the children: all boys. She always wanted a little girl but she is grateful now she never had one. Boys fare better with poverty. She fills up a large water bottle and places it inside the large red Radio Flyer wagon that Patsy bought on the sly for the children. A small pond of tears well up in Dana’s eyes as she recalls the morning Patsy pulled the wagon out of her truck. The week before, the engine in Dana’s car died and it was almost too much to walk the long distance to the store with the three children. She could walk it but the children found it very hard even when Dana carried each one of them a third of the way. Dana just does not have enough arms: arms to carry the children, arms to carry the groceries, arms to hug the children tight.

She places two of the boys in the wagon and heads down the long dirt path to the road to Mr Ziegler’s farm, five miles south of her. The weather cooled a little now and the few trees seen from the roadside boasted their autumn colors. Splashes of orange, yellow, and red brightened the remains of a shattered dream: a promise for better or worse. How much worse can it be when he leaves for another woman? She tried her best to keep her girlish figure but child bearing changed everything. Silently she cursed God, "How drastically unfair! Why must women bear all the punishment? Come on God, this is 2004, only seventy-five years ago women were recognized as persons. How much longer will we battle for everything?" She felt like she understood the weight of the cross Christ himself bore. She shrugged her shoulders and thought, "What does it matter anyway? I am cursed, I am judged, and I have no choice but to go on."


The children in the wagon were giggling. A smile blossomed on her face. She loved the children. They brought her hours of endless pleasure with their silly questions and ideas and those nonsensical pranks they dream up. If it were not for them, she may not have made it. She loved her husband so much. There was relatively very little in the world she would not do for him. Was she one of six billion women, she contemplated, that loved far too much? Maybe if she done more, was prettier, was thinner, was smarter, was funnier, and on and on. Almost as quickly as the smile blossomed a frown appeared. “Let him have his money and this new love!” Dana shrugs her shoulders as if it would help toss aside all the feelings she was dragging inside.

After several exchanges in and out of the wagon, they reached the Zeigler farm. “Okay kids, help momma gather the potatoes!” Laughingly the children spread out to see who was going to find the largest potato. Dana, smiled as they ran up to her for approval with each potato they found. Finally, the bag she carried was full. She was sure they had a good fifteen pounds. She slung it over her back and the troop headed back towards home.

Half way home, they stopped for a sandwich and a drink. She could see the children were getting tired. This was a long day. It was still a fair walk home and once there it would be almost suppertime. She decided to make fried potatoes and eggs. The children loved them almost as much as the ketchup they smothered on everything.

A small wind gusted up the dirt pathways to the house. The children are quiet now and slowed down quite considerably in the last half hour. Dana prays they will not fall asleep before dinner. She plans on a nice warm bath for them. That usually works well enough so they get a second wind.

Night falls upon the small shadowed house. Inside dim lamps give off cozy warmth. Dana reads quietly to the children as their eyes close in innocence. Dana says a silent prayer as she softly closes the bedroom door with a smile. As she sits down in her large warm comfortable chair she laughs, “For four dollars she could have bought the bag of potatoes!”