There's a family photograph taken when I was about six or seven. We're walking down the road where we lived. When my father saw this photograph he noticed something about me that he'd missed before, and he decided to do something about it. From then on every day for I don't know how long, it seemed like forever to me, but was probably only weeks, I would end up in tears. Having noticed that my feet turned inwards, he made me walk with them turned outwards. Up and down the room every day. It was so difficult and frustrating because at first I just couldn't do it. I'd be walking up and down that room bawling away as I tried to do what he wanted. I noticed that as I concentrated on turning my feet outwards, my hands would turn outwards too. My brain just wouldn't separate my upper limbs from my lower ones. Every session would end with painful muscles in legs and arms.
Eventually I did learn to walk properly and I'm forever grateful to my father for his persistence. I imagine that the last thing he wanted when he came home tired from a hard day at work was to listen to me crying and protesting when what he was actually doing was showing me he loved me.