I always loved barnacles. The tiny white houses protect their sea dwellers with sharp spiked towers. They attach to boats and piers and rocks and shells, anything that remains in the sea long enough.

When I was a kid, entire sections of the beach were covered with barnacles and you had to walk over them to get to the water. It was risky to wear flip-flops because if you left them at the water’s edge, they would often be swept away while you were swimming. Sometimes you might catch one, and sometimes you might catch both but it seemed like most times they were long gone.

I learned to leave my flip-flops high on the shore and walk barefoot over the barnacles with my tough and callused soles. I walked carefully and rarely got cut. Anyway, a small cut would heal quickly in the salt water.

As I grew up, I realized I was expected to have soft, smooth feet, but if I succumbed to that belief, how would I walk on barnacles?