SPORTS SECTION
(Written in May, 2005)
"If you want to be at the track meet by 8:30, you'd better get up." I called to Mr. G from the bottom of the steps. I heard him grumble a little then roll out of bed. We were on our way in short order with his breakfast banana and all.
Our daughter Margaret met us at the field. Her thick dark hair was severely pulled back away from her face with its creamy complexion making her look even more striking than usual. There was a chill in the air that Saturday morning which caused Mr. G. and me to crave a big hot cup of coffee. The concession stand was still closed when we arrived. As soon as it opened, we made a beeline to it. With coffee in hand, its rising steam summoned forth by the chilly air, we headed for the bleachers.
Our oldest grandson Justin was waiting to line up for the mile run. I squinted to find the boy with the blondish hair, but couldn't make him out. So, I had to take Margaret's word for where he stood among the crowd of youngsters. The field was packed with children, coaches, and adults who were helping out. Articles of clothing, such as jackets and sweatpants, shed moments earlier in preparation for the races were scattered helter-skelter on the grass. On the other side of the fence which surrounded the field, other children romped and parents, grandparents, and interested others strolled back and forth on the wide sidewalk waiting for the races to begin. Now and then they would stop to chitchat with one another.
I saw a Hispanic couple proudly walking their little girl each holding one of her hands. My eyes caught hers. For a moment which seemed to freeze in time the toddler and I were kinfolk and ageless as we talked to each other warmly with our eyes. Her eyes told me she was excited and proud that she was learning how to walk. My eyes told her I was charmed by her innocence and enthusiasm. It was one of the highlights of my day.
The races began and I found myself hooting and clapping and cheering on this child and that child as they passed by the bleachers toward the finish line. Eventually the time came for the sixth graders to line up for the mile run. Justin's form was good. His back was straight. His stride was long. Soon he was in second place and leaving most of the other runners far behind. He attempted to overtake the lead runner in the final lap, but he was winding down by then and the lead runner still had plenty of steam. Justin finished the race in 6 minutes and 4 seconds. I am told that is very good for his age.
After the race, Justin began to vomit. He had ran his heart out. Seeing that I was concerned, Mr. G. assured me that this was normal. When Justin didn't recover right away though and went on to vomit again and again, I started to worry. I asked my daughter if she thought she should go to him. She said she did not want to embarrass him, but later she did go to him. And later, unable to resist my own maternal instincts, I scurried across the track to join her and be with my grandson.
Justin was on his back with his knees bent and his feet flat on the ground. His eyes were closed. It was obvious he was fighting the urge to vomit again. His coach was massaging a knotted muscle that had formed on the back of Justin's neck due to the vigorous vomiting. I squatted down alongside Justin and began to pat his knee. I told him he had done a great job and that Papa and I were very proud of him. I struggled to avoid fussing over him too much, because I knew he would recover most likely and that this was one of those rites of passage for him from childhood to manhood.
As I knelt there beside Justin and watched him bat his long lashes and grimace with pain, I asked myself if it wasn't just yesterday that he was a toddler like the little girl I had encountered earlier that morning. Wasn't it just yesterday, I asked myself, that he was learning how to let go of furniture and walk alone? Where did the years go? What happened to them? It won't be long, I thought, before he will be tall, a man, and will be bending down to give me a hug. At the very moment, I wanted to scoop this beautiful child up in my arms and hug him tight while there was still time.
Mr. G. drove slowly down the tree covered street toward home after the track meet. A woman was planting flowers in her yard. A man was mowing his lawn. Some children were chasing each other around outside while the family dog barked at them through a picture window from inside the house. I turned to Mr. G. and said, "Do you realize, Mr. G., that nothing is insignificant? That everything has value? That everyone has worth?" I knew he did of course.
"Do you want to go out to eat tonight?" Mr. G. asked. "I guess." I replied.
