By Michael Patrick O’Brien–
To be an O’Brien does not mean you are ugly, but it does mean you are not an icon of classic physical beauty either.
Generally, we are skinny creatures, not so much slim as awkwardly lanky. Over time that changes, of course, but only in one section of the body—the gut.
A friend once said that few things look more odd than “a fat skinny man.” I hope she did not mean me.
Our O’Brien eyes can be a striking ocean blue, but often are set so close together that they uncomfortably trespass on the olfactory perimeter of the nose.
And because we rarely tan, our outer surfaces are highly reflective. Whenever I took my shirt off during high school gym class, my classmates averted their eyes in pain and screamed, “Turn it off!”
We O’Briens tend to overcompensate for our physical beauty deficits by developing a clever wit, writing great (but almost always sad) poetry, drinking whiskey, and nursing a pugilistic attitude. Think of the Fighting Irish.
After a lifetime of overcompensating for my average looks, I was thrilled recently to learn that I do possess one—but only one—element of classical beauty. My big toe on my left foot is shorter than the toe next to it.
In case you doubt that this really could be a beauty mark, I refer you to the same article from which I gleaned this stunning revelation. Here’s a direct quote:
“Is your second toe longer than your first? Well, so is the Statue of Liberty’s, Venus de Milo’s, The Vitruvian Man’s, and heaps of other famous orthopedic representations all throughout art history. You may have what is known as Morton’s toe [also Greek Toe], considered by many ancient artists and cultures a high mark of beauty, dominance, and intelligence.”
Apparently, ancient Greek and Roman sculptors—and even painters like Leonardo da Vinci—liked the visual effects of the Greek Toe. They deemed this unusual alignment in the metatarsus as evidence of the Golden Ratio, an ideal mathematical proportion that the renowned mathematician Euclid thought defined perfection.
I was not born with such a beautiful left foot. I acquired it as a boy, in a very unique way. My 2021 memoir Monastery Mornings explains:
“My teenage sisters tolerated me, but with some disdain, when Mom forced them to bring me along on their outings. When they showed their sisterly displeasure with little brother, I got revenge with pleasure, using two proven methods of annoying them right back. Method one, used when forced to hold hands, involved inserting my thumb inside their hand instead of leaving it outside as normally occurred in handholding. Method two, used when forced to walk together, involved stopping every ten or twenty feet to pull up my socks. Despite their annoyance, they also taught me how to roller skate on the concrete pad that served as our back porch. I did not pick it up quickly but at least never got seriously hurt trying.
The same is not true about my outdoor adventures with my brother. We constructed a homemade roller coaster—red Radio Flyer wagons tied together with ropes—and sent it careening down a nearby hill. On this, the coaster’s maiden voyage, my wagon, second behind my brother in the lead, failed to navigate a turn, cut loose, and smashed into a telephone pole. My left foot ended up wedged between the wagon and the pole, painfully but conveniently sparing the wagon from any real damage. My brother reacted to the crash by instructing me not to tell Mom about my broken foot, and then asking if I was OK.”
My foot healed quickly enough after the crash, but the traumatic moment endowed me for life with Greek Toe. From that day on, my left big toe has been shorter than the toe right next to it.
This phenomenon was not always a blessing. I never knew it was a beauty mark. It perplexed salespeople who tried to ascertain my shoe size by measuring my left foot. And it did not make me any good at soccer (although my right foot probably shares equal blame for this problem).
I have used my distinctive toe to some advantage while playing the game “two truths and a lie” at parties. No one ever believes my claim that I have two different size feet.
Other than once in a while at party games, however, up until now I’ve kept my Greek Toe under wraps. After all, who wants to call attention to your imperfections? Now I know better.
I secretly hope that in some future gatherings with family or friends, perhaps after a few sips of whiskey, someone will start a heated discussion about who or what is most beautiful. I have a secret weapon.
I will end the debate by yanking off my shoe, pulling off my sock, and putting my left foot on top of the table. We Irish know how to flaunt a Greek Toe.
Thanks Euclid!
*Mike O’Brien (author website here) is a writer and attorney living in Salt Lake City, Utah. Paraclete Press published his book Monastery Mornings, about growing up with the monks at the old Trappist monastery in Huntsville, Utah, in August 2021. The League of Utah Writers chose it as the best non-fiction book of 2022.
ABSOLUTE NONSENSE