We struggled to find his tennis shoes and glove. We struggled to get into the car. I was afraid we would be late for his first Tee Ball game. Nicholas declares from the back seat, “I want to quit. I don’t want to play base ball.” It’s one of those moments. I knew it was a teachable moment, and yet I was not sure what to say. In the car, we talked about being on a team. When it got right down to it I let him know he was not a quitter. I watched him play the game that day, and he really enjoyed it. I think he just had a little case of butterflies on the way there. After the game I bought him his first snow cone. I was very proud of my little hitter.
While I watched him play I was thinking back to my Dad, and how he would not let me quit. When I was in high school I ran track. I was awful at it. I know my coach did not know what to do with me. I couldn't jump far enough for long jump, or run fast enough for sprints, so she put me in long distance. I was not good at long distance either. I would get lapped running the 1 mile. I don’t know if she was hoping I would quit, or if she was short and needed a body to run the race, but there I was. Every track meet I would run in the 1 mile, the 2 mile, the 800 yard dash, the 400 yard dash, the 2 mile relay, and the 1 mile relay. Add that up it was 4 ½ miles at every track meet. It was grueling.
I would join track because my friend would talk me into it. She would say, “Come on, lets’ do it. We get out of school early for track meets, and it will keep us in shape.” I would join the track team, and two weeks later start to beg my Dad to let me quit. My lungs hurt, my legs hurt, my sides ached, and my feet had blisters. To top it all off I smelled like Ben Gay. My Dad would tell me how good I was at track, and finally that I couldn't quit. I did not have to join next year, but I was part of a team and quitting was not an option.
It was so frustrating. I can’t describe the feeling I felt running at the meets especially with one particular girl. She was good, I can’t tell you her name or her school, but I remember those purple shoes. I could hear her gaining on me, and finally watch those purple shoes pass me up. She would lap me twice during the two mile race. I would picture myself walking off the track. I just wanted to quit mid race and walk off. I never did, I just couldn't’t do it. Every meet I ran/jogged/dragged myself along until I reached the finish line. High school ended, and my friend was right, running kept us in shape. Somehow I ended up with a medal on my Letterman jacket for 3rd place in the 1 mile relay. (If I remember right there were only 3 teams running the race that day.)
My Dad taught me a lot of good lessons from those track seasons. I know that no matter how hard I try; I will never be a graceful runner, and that our parents see us with rose colored glasses. I also know I am not a quitter. I learned not to let my friends talk me into doing things I don’t enjoy. I am a little more careful about what I start, because I know I will see them to the end. I hope I am doing well with my boys. I hope they become good family men who know how important it is to fulfill promises. That they take care in choosing what they hold dear, and not quit until the job is done.
While I watched him play I was thinking back to my Dad, and how he would not let me quit. When I was in high school I ran track. I was awful at it. I know my coach did not know what to do with me. I couldn't jump far enough for long jump, or run fast enough for sprints, so she put me in long distance. I was not good at long distance either. I would get lapped running the 1 mile. I don’t know if she was hoping I would quit, or if she was short and needed a body to run the race, but there I was. Every track meet I would run in the 1 mile, the 2 mile, the 800 yard dash, the 400 yard dash, the 2 mile relay, and the 1 mile relay. Add that up it was 4 ½ miles at every track meet. It was grueling.
I would join track because my friend would talk me into it. She would say, “Come on, lets’ do it. We get out of school early for track meets, and it will keep us in shape.” I would join the track team, and two weeks later start to beg my Dad to let me quit. My lungs hurt, my legs hurt, my sides ached, and my feet had blisters. To top it all off I smelled like Ben Gay. My Dad would tell me how good I was at track, and finally that I couldn't quit. I did not have to join next year, but I was part of a team and quitting was not an option.
It was so frustrating. I can’t describe the feeling I felt running at the meets especially with one particular girl. She was good, I can’t tell you her name or her school, but I remember those purple shoes. I could hear her gaining on me, and finally watch those purple shoes pass me up. She would lap me twice during the two mile race. I would picture myself walking off the track. I just wanted to quit mid race and walk off. I never did, I just couldn't’t do it. Every meet I ran/jogged/dragged myself along until I reached the finish line. High school ended, and my friend was right, running kept us in shape. Somehow I ended up with a medal on my Letterman jacket for 3rd place in the 1 mile relay. (If I remember right there were only 3 teams running the race that day.)
My Dad taught me a lot of good lessons from those track seasons. I know that no matter how hard I try; I will never be a graceful runner, and that our parents see us with rose colored glasses. I also know I am not a quitter. I learned not to let my friends talk me into doing things I don’t enjoy. I am a little more careful about what I start, because I know I will see them to the end. I hope I am doing well with my boys. I hope they become good family men who know how important it is to fulfill promises. That they take care in choosing what they hold dear, and not quit until the job is done.
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