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I've spent the greater part of the last thirteen years trying to mold my children into the best human beings they can possibly be; encouraging them to excel in the arenas of music, academics and spiritual matters...... so imagine my shock when my oldest took some giant leaps off of my rosy pathway and into some seriously scary waters. Oh, I know what you are thinking..... it's just a phase; he'll grow out of it..... lots of kids experiment...... but it is all just so new to me. I mean, what was I supposed to say when my thirteen year old came home from school and first uttered the words, "Mom, I am going out for track." ? How to deal with the notion that a son of mine, albeit a suddenly tall, leggy one, would choose to run for sport?! Preposterous! For me, running has always been something I either had to do; early in my life because say, I was being chased by a bee, or a neighbor boy, or a mean kid at recess. When I got older, and the flub of three pregnancies had left its ugly appearance, I managed to get out there and run (very, very slowly) around the neighborhood, hoping to shake or jiggle some of the fat off. But never, not for one stinkin' moment, NEVER did I enjoy this. But my son, this oldest child of mine; he has always been so different from me. Right from the start it was apparent that God had taken genetic material from my hubby and myself and fixed Him up a whole new human being. Shocking! Amazing! Still...... there were the glimmers of generations gone by- a keen mind for science (from his father), the ability to understand the most complex math problem in a moment (also from his father)......so, well, there wasn't a lot of ME in him. This whole track team decision, however, was a doozy of a revelation to me: this son of mine was nothing like me. I am sure that being like dear old mom is probably way down, oh, so very far down on his list of things to do anyway. So when he made this announcement, I tried to be as non-judgmental as possible. "Track?" I asked, surprised beyond imagination. "You mean like running?" "Yeah, Mom, like running." "Oh, like on the Olympics." (Now I sounded like some simpleton; it's true, but I was still trying to digest the fact that a child of mine was going to run for FUN!) "Uh-huh. Oh, and Mom?" "Yes?" "I need fifty dollars for a jersey and a pair of good running shoes." He answered. Okey dokey. A brand new beginning for me. Yesterday was the first track meet, and I must say that it went mighty fine. My son ran the mile and a relay and threw the discus. He did really well; and while I was watching him, all sinewy legs striding around the track, I was stuck anew at what a miraculous gift it has been to raise him thus far. He and his brothers, each so different from the other, keep me perpetually surprised at how little I really know about being a kid. Or a teenager. Or, let's face it: a boy. Still...... we are connected, and even as my son participates in this alien (to me) sport, I can feel my body tense as he rounds the curve, each muscle alive in sympathy with his; my child, the runner. Later, after the meet, I volunteered to run around the neighborhood with my son, if he wanted. "Mom, umm, no offense, but, ah, I don't think that would help me very much." He answered. "You run so slow that I could walk faster than you run. I need to get faster, not slower. I will just go by myself. It will be fine." The running is just the beginning of the life he will lead by himself, without my guidance or assistance, and hopefully, if I have done my job right, his run through life will be a smooth and easy glide.
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