Webbed

I have always had a great affinity for the duck. I’m not sure where such love, and it is love, began. It could’ve been elementary school; my friend Dayle Lieberman’s family raised Shelties, yet also had two ducks forbodingly named, Omelet and Scramble. I adored them. They would meet us after school at the end of her driveway and walk us up to the house. One day the family returned home to find the yard and house strewn with feathers, a wolf had poached them. Maybe fried them. Most certainly, minced and scrambled them. Devastating.

Years later, on a trip to Seaworld I recognized that ducks, like I were verbal and vocal, conversive, and also like I continued to talk and quack regardless if anyone responded. It is also known that ducks mate for life. (Note- not that I believe that monogamy is biologically nor socially tenable, sometimes I desire such when nights are cold and days are hot). This mallard couple near my old mechanic’s would return every year to the mud puddle of toxins. Some people walk with spider or bat, but my animal spirit is most definitely the duck. And not just because the secretary near my office continues to call me Ducky .. even though I have corrected her 10x. “Hi Ms. Ducky! Nice to see you!” Why fight what you are/who you are. I am a duck.

Well sort of.
So.. at the age of 38, almost 39, I have discovered I have a webbed feet slash toes. Also known as syndactyly also known as a birth defect occurring in 2,000 to 2,500 live (human) births. Syndactyly is characterized by the fusion of two or more digits of the feet. This is normal in many birds, such as ducks. The percentage of human webs is slightly higher if your mother smokes while pregnant.

Some parents pass on mathematical skills (note-didn't get); height (note didn’t get); blonde hair (note-didn’t get); Goyisha nose (note didn’t get), yet others pass on chronic upper respiratory issues, allergies to mold, pollen, trees, and dust, irritable bowel disease, Celiac, lactose intolerance, neurosis, depression, severe motion sickness (note- severe in like I feel I’m on fire), and in some cases, webbed feet. Though in my case, my webs were most likely due to Joyce (note-mother) lighting up the KOOLS several times a day during my gestation. I should note it did keep both our weight down. I was a slender 4.9 lbs when born, with mom coming in at a slim 118. Who says smoking sucks? Low birth weight and webbed feet. I’m a catch. As my mom would say, ‘You can never be too rich or too thin.' Or be a good swimmer.

This webbing explains some of the balance challenges I’ve had in my life. My ability to balance love and work. Work and love. The high beam. The low beam. My checkbook. My budget. (what budget?!) It also explains why I have had no desire to have toes sucked or feet felt in times of lust and foie gras. (Note-thank God the mayor of Chicago outlawed foie gras, now that's a politician.)

Really, I didn’t need anything to distinguish me from others as there is a litany of differences among my contemporaries and me most notably: they are debt free, understand what a Roth IRA is, have families and emotional wealth, whereas I volunteer to feed baby birds at the Bird Center. (note-coincidence). Did you know you have to feed a baby bird every 30 minutes?

I’m ready to mother or to mom, ready to pass on some of my mishigash, from webbed feet to frizzy locks to a fear of diving (very unduck-like, I know) on to someone else. Perhaps, they too will be creatively inspired and enriched by all they have inherited, and even write stories of defects, despondency and a need for love.