Putting Your Big Foot Forward

  

It’s remarkable that in 2021, there are still people who don't know what to do with Bigfoot. And what to say – do you give him a hearty, one-time hello in the off chance he knows English, having learned our wonderful tongue through trashed trail maps and overwritten tent instructions? Or do you settle for a genuine peace-offering, the fairly reliable five-finger wave? It's not like they know. They don’t have a clue, remember? They think that you have to bag him with a comically large net, trapping him like a rabid beast.

Bigfoot is just a man with bigger feet – nothing more, nothing less. God forbid Clark’s or Doctor Marten himself are tasked with producing a new line of extra large footwear for the lumbering galoot. But the solution ought to be straightforward enough. We find him and we invite him to dinner. That’s what you do with someone, or something, you don’t understand. In the process of breaking bread, is there the danger he may break something else with his huge paws? Clearly. But when has that ever stopped you from welcoming some of your rougher relatives with open arms? 

You don’t do what the nameless, faceless, brainless Governor of Oklahoma did and propose a Bigfoot hunting season. First of all, who ever heard of an entire hunting season for a single animal? It seems unfair to the consummate hunter, an individual banking on feeding his or her family through a sizable haul. Bigfoot’s made it this far into the 21^st century, so we ought to show a tad more respect. This is a lame ploy to attract tourism to a state best known for its odd frying pan shape. Oklahoma’s biggest contribution to national discourse is that it isn’t Texas. 

This is all a rather long way of saying that I’m writing from a position of premium privilege. Since I’ve met Bigfoot on a number of occasions, usually in a social setting with mutual friends. Is he perfect? Far from it. Does he always know which fork to use? No, he eats with his hands. Does he occasionally make an off-color joke in mixed company? Yes, but he’s lived in near total isolation except for the dissonant holler of an ebullient yokel. He told me once what he does with fans. He goes right up to them and poses for a few selfies, disarming them with his kindness and approachability. When the picture is complete, he smashes the stranger’s phone to smithereens - sending a message that anonymity is truly priceless. I obviously asked him if he was aware of cloud computing – since pictures can be uploaded automatically. He smiled and said – you think there’s good service where I live? I didn’t have to answer.

At the end of each evening, he leaves without saying goodbye, no matter what the weather’s like or what he’s imbibed. He’s not yet ready for primetime. Bigfoot deserves what every American deserves – affordable healthcare and a popular podcast where he can pontificate on politics for three to four hours unimpeded. Frankly, he's more entertaining than most of my former classmates. And most of them benefited from years of schooling and private fork lessons. 

There’s much we could learn from Bigfoot, if only we'd give him the chance. So please, Oklahoma - stand down.