(This story came to my mind recently in honor of a friend. It will only take 10 to 20 minutes to read and is appropriate for all ages 10 and up.)
Another bead of sweat ran down the boy’s face as the heat of the midday sun hit upon his head and shoulders.
He picked up his athletic towel and wiped the perspiration from his face and forehead. “How was that one Dad?”
The boy’s father looked down at the old digital stopwatch. “I got a time of 55.78.”
The boy’s eyebrows scrunched together in exasperation, “Fifty-five seconds, … shit!”
“Hey, that’s pretty good for thirteen years old. And, … language, … please.”
The booked looked over sheepishly, “Yeah, … sorry Dad.”
“You’ll get there. … It’s only the junior varsity track team for goodness sake, not the Olympics.”
“Yeah, that’s true but you don’t know Coach Berry. The guy is a maniac.”
“I do know Coach Berry and his main interest is in seeing his boys improve.”
The boy wiped the back of his neck. “I don’t mind improving as long as puking or dying are not involved.”
The father smiled and looked up as a loud bird flew past. He glanced across the bright azure sky filled with sunshine. After a moment, he lowered his gaze to his son, “You ready for another go?”
“Yep, you bet.”
The boy walked over to the starting blocks. He lined up his feet and adjusted his posture before placing both hands on the track. He looked over at his father. “Ready.”
The father held the toy, six-shooter, cap gun in the air with his right hand while his left hand held the stopwatch.
“Ready.”
“Set.”
Bang! The cap gun went off with a not terribly loud sound and the boy was off.
He pushed off the blocks with gusto and pulled his arms in for a smooth, fluid stride that saw him pick up speed quickly. His hair streamed back from his head as he flew down the track. Beads of sweat flew off his hair as the hot sun pounded down. He continued to pick up speed as his arms scissored back and forth.
As he came round to the final turn, he pegged the needle and put a final burst in to close the last forty meters.
As he ran through the finish line, the father squeezed his left index finger on the old stopwatch. The boy rapidly began to slow and circled back until he came up beside his father. Only a few inches shorter than his father, he had recently begun the main phase of his puberty growth spurt. He looked at his father’s eyes, “How was that?”
The father looked down at the watch, “I got ya at 55.12.”
The boy’s tone changed slightly, “Twelve-hundredths of a second? Seriously? If only I had shaved the hair on my arms, I would have dropped that off.”
A small smile began to displace the corners of his father’s mouth in recognition of the sarcasm. He looked to his boy, “What’s your best time out here ever for the four hundred meters?”
The boy took his cool water bottle and held it against the side of his head as he tried to remember. “A few weeks back, I ran it at fifty-four seconds and something when we had a slightly cooler afternoon.”
The father nodded, “What if I said I can run one better?”
The boy laughed and looked at his father in mock surprise, “You? You wanna take me on? But you haven’t used your … ”
“Don’t you want to have someone show you how it’s done?”
The boy began to smile sarcastically, “What car are you going to be riding in while I am running?”
The father smiled, “I’m getting older bub, …. I’m not dead.”
“I don’t know pops, … forty-nine is pretty old.”
“Blink twice and you will be forty-nine before you know it.”
The son looked into his father’s eyes and nodded.
“You better get some hydration before this race begins. … You’re gonna need it.”
The son smiled, “I’m far more worried that you might bust your fat roll before I run out of hydration old man.”
The father moved his hand past his only slightly protruding abdomen, “Hey, … don’t be making fun of this fourteen-pack. People in town rent my abdomen out to play racquetball off of.”
The boy gulped down a few more long pulls on the water bottle while his father stretched his legs.
They moved over to the starting blocks. The father took off his watch. As his son placed his feet in the blocks, the father looked over. “To make it fair for both of us, we will wait until the countdown timer goes off. Sound fair?”
His son nodded his head as the father placed the watch between them so that both could see it clearly.
“I’m gonna set it for a five-second countdown. You ready?”
The boy adjusted his left leg, “Ready.”
The father pushed the small secondary crown in and the display began ticking down from five seconds.
Five
Four
Three
Two
Beep! The alarm went off and with it the boy and his father.
The boy’s acceleration was evident from the start, and he again pulled in his arms and took short, quick strides. Within just the first twenty meters, he had already pulled ahead of his father by half an arm’s length.
They came into that first corner at ninety percent of their top speed. It helped that the son purely by chance had taken the second lane, which meant he had just that bit further to go if he wished to stay equal with his father.
They were both furiously pumping their legs and arms trying to maximize their speed. Within a split second and thanks to the curve, the father had pulled up equal beside his son, which only encouraged the son to push a little harder as they came out of the turn and into the straightaway.
The son pushed the needle just a little bit higher as he again pulled ahead of his father. That burst though was a bit too much and he was having trouble maintaining it. Like all those young and inexperienced, the boy had not paced himself in that initial burst of adrenaline and show. His father in turn continued down the track at his own rapid pace and began to slightly pull past the boy.
The father, who had last been in a foot race decades before, worked his legs as quickly as he could. He wasn’t used to using them, … and it felt weird moving that fast. But weird or not, he was determined to give his son a real challenge.
As the father surpassed his son, the boy glanced quickly to the side. Amazingly, his father seemed to have a sly smile on his face as they ran. It was a bit hard to tell because of their jostling and the angle, but the boy thought he detected elation. Maybe his father was simply enjoying the feeling of the exertion. He couldn’t be sure.
At any rate, the boy couldn’t let his father win. He had only just entered the fullness of puberty and the time had come for the new to overtake the old.
He put in a burst down the stretch and as he pulled even again with his father, he yelled, “Not today old man. Not today!”
The father only smiled because while his son was expending energy bragging, he retained his speed and picked up the pace as he headed into the last turn.
They both entered the last turn neck and neck jostling for the lead. The father then did something his son had forgotten to do, … he leaned into the turn. As he did, all those forces that his son would soon learn about from Newton played their part. He slowly began to gain and they came out of the turn with the father an arm length’s ahead.
But youth has its advantages and one of those is recovery time. The boy now felt his stamina returning, and he decided to translate every last ounce of exertion into speed.
The father, for his part, was beginning to lag but knew that he too would have to finish with everything. Down the final stretch, they ran jostling for the lead and the father pulled just a hair ahead. The boy noticed not only the gain but the look of elation on his father’s face, and that made him all the more determined.
With one final push, the boy pegged the needle past one hundred percent and ran through the finish line just a smidgen ahead of his father.
Both continued running for another thirty meters as they slowed before they finally shifted down to a walking pace and circled back.
The boy looked over to his father, “You did that just to push me even harder in that last turn and stretch.”
The father just smiled.
The boy grabbed his towel off his athletic bag and wiped his forehead. “You’re pretty sneaky Dad.”
“I only do what is needed to see you excel.” The father then turned his neck slightly and yelled into the air, “Show us the times please.”
Ten meters distance from the boy and his father, large floating holographic numerals appeared in mid-air about one meter off the ground. The boy had clocked 53.42 and the father had clocked 53.87.
“Now show me my time if I had run the exact distance that my son did, please.”
The numeral 57.59 appeared floating above the first set.
The father raised his voice slightly, “Show us the best four-hundred-meter time for ninth graders at my son’s high school please.”
Another set of floating numerals appeared above the first two sets that showed 53.43.
The father smiled, “See, … you already broke the record by one one-hundredth of a second.”
“Yeah Dad, but times in here can be slightly off one way or the other. They are almost never exactly what they are in real space.”
“Sure, … but they are still very close.” The father turned his head again slightly as he spoke into the air, “Shut down sensorium session.”
Immediately, they were returned to the real world as the living room of their house re-pixelated around them. The tiny wireless neural pods beside their right ears which were in constant communication with their neural nanite arrays switched from red to green to indicate that they had “rejoined” the world.
Both looked around their surroundings for a moment and found their family dog, Kai ever faithful waiting at the boy’s feet. He began barking almost immediately upon their “return.”
The boy began swiveling his head looking for his jacket. He picked it up and then looked over at his father in his wheelchair. “Gotta get to practice Dad but that was a good session. Thanks for racing me.”
“Sure. Don’t forget your water bottle.”
“I never would have believed you were that fast.”
The father, whose muscles had atrophied over the decades due to Becker muscular dystrophy moved his neck slowly to look at his son. “Speed is all in the mind. Master the mind, … and the body can do unbelievable things.”
The son just smiled, “You’re like a Yoda riding around in that thing aren’t you?”
The father smiled, “Come over here please.”
The boy came over and the father bent his head so his son could give him a hug.
“When you are out there today racing, … and later this week for the big meet, … pretend it’s me you are racing against.”
The son bent his head slightly, “Dad, … there is one thing you can do for me.”
The father tilted his head against the wheelchair rest to the limits of his mobility so that he could better see his son.
“Walk someday.”
Their eyes met and in that fraction of a second, everything that needed to be said, … was. A bond shared only by fathers and sons who have known and passed unconditional love.
“They just released that new Vh-CRISPR nanite assisted array for clinical trials Dad. Hang in there!” The boy reached down and petted Kai’s head for a moment and then found his duffel bag.
As he opened the front door and was about to head out, the father spoke up. “Hey, … don’t forget, … I love you.”
The boy looked at his father with a warmth in his eyes, “I know Dad. …. Everyone knows.”
The father nodded.
“Stay speedy, Dad!”
“I’ll try.”
This story is dedicated to Kenny Brown, his wife Jennifer, and his son Kristofer, who are very much alive and well as I type this. It is interesting who you meet on the path of life, and I was fortunate to run into Kenny. He grew up just like anyone else until he was diagnosed with Becker’s muscular distrophy at age five. As other boys headed to high school to play sports and kiss girls, Kenny headed into a wheelchair. When his classmates moved on to college and jobs, he fought depression, probably wondering why God had shackled him. Eventually, realizing that continual anger served no purpose, he resolved to live better than he had. He graduated from university, married, became active in his church and community, and eventually had Kristofer, … whom he hopes will carry on all the good things that he lives by example everyday.
I get out of bed every morning hoping I’ll have the strength to live like he does, … but knowing that I do not. I thought others should know about him. This story is for you, Kenny.