One of our Blog Readers Geraldine, submitted this heartwarming big feet story. Enjoy ! I did.

" When I was about age 12, I travelled to my grandma's house who was Slovak.  She lived across the Windsor- Detroit Border.
At that time , there was only Tall Girl's shoe store for larger than average feet. The shoes all looked like old lady orthopaedic shoes. Across the river, in Michigan, there was a Payless shoe store. I was in HEAVEN ! I travelled by car across the Ambassador bridge to the awaiting paradise of Payless and found not one, but 8 pair of fashionable girlie shoes. When grandma and I and her friends came back across the border, the customs agent said  - Anything to declare ? At that time, you had to pay duty on anything you bought on a day trip. Before grandma could say " no"- I wiggled out of my old worn size 12 shoes and proudly displayed my feet out the passenger window for the female customs lady approval. I joyfully said - Yes ! I bought EIGHT pairs of shoes at Payless shoe store. I wear Size 12 and I cant find anything pretty that size in Canada. The agent, much to my grandmas surprise , smiled and replied- I wear Size 11 myself. You did good ! Have a great day. That is my big feet story."

This is the house my Mother was born in, in Pohorela Slovakia. It may very well have been the house HER mother was born in and HER mother before that. I have no way of knowing.

Immigrating to a new country can be very daunting,especially as a child. My mom was 6 years old when my grandfather sent for his wife and her, to make the long trip by boat across the Atlantic, to their new home in Sault Ste Marie, Canada.

My mother shared some stories before she passed away 2 years ago. She remembered that her mother was sick in their small cabin the entire voyage and that she was taken care of ( along with other children)  by another responsible adult. She shared that she had one suitcase with her and a rag doll in her hands. I'm sure this immigrant story is typical of many immigrant stories, regardless of cultural background or time of immigration. Refugees still migrate to North America, in hope of a better life for themselves and their children. I oftentimes think about how frightening and strange that all must have been at first. There were no English classes in school way back then in the 1920's. Right up until the end of their difficult lives, my maternal grandmother and grandfather spoke ( very) broken English. We feasted on our cultural favorite foods right up until the end.  I still cook some of them myself today. When upset or stressed out , a big warm bowl of kapusta and potatoes  ! always does the trick to cheer me up. It feels like "home" in some strange, com
Do you have a poignant story to share about someone who immigrated to North America in your family ? its through telling stories that we all get to understand each other a bit better. AHOJ !

Growing up from sturdy Slovak and Ukrainian stock, blessed me with unusually big feet. As a child, I would go to my mother and cry, pointing at my big feet and big shoes and say " Why me ???" She offered a particularly candid and honest answer: because if God gave you little feet, youre so tall, you would tip over !!  At 9 years old , I had size 9 feet and was over 5 feet tall already.The worst was dating someone with feet smaller than you, and placing your shoes next to his . Then there was attending parties as a teen and young adult- where everyone took off their shoes and you distinctly saw that YOUR SHOES were by far the biggest of the lot . SHUSH.

How does one get over such an aversion to a cultural attribute ? By learning to embrace the beauty of your big feet. By loving them and being proud of them.  Writing this children's story has allowed me to celebrate my BIG FEET with the entire world.
I hope you will consider joining me, by sending in a picture of YOUR big feet and allowing them to have an honoured place on our wall of BIG FEET ...  We will post the best pictures. Ahoj !

I am the daughter of Slavic immigrant parents. My cultural heritage defines me as an artist and as a Human Being.
Both my parents ( Slovak and Ukrainian) had strong work ethics and were very disciplined in all they undertook. At the same time, they knew how to laugh , share off colour jokes with zest ! and socialize with friends and family. There is a time , growing up when one compares the life one was BORN INTO, with the life that one FORGES for oneself. At a certain point, there is a crossroads that defines you in the end. We must choose how we are going to handle living between 2 cultures, languages and sensibilities...