My Father, The Runner

He wasn't a track star. He never ran marathons. But for a good portion of my childhood, my father was a runner.

He ran around the neighborhood. He ran in local fun runs. He ran in circles at the high school track while his children whined and complained about being bored. He's trying to push down that tree again, we'd joke as he stretched.

He also encouraged us to run. Not that it helped. Rounding the far end of the track often marked my stopping point, if I even bothered running at all.

My younger brother would eventually take on the task. Memories of late-night marching band rehearsals still linger, me trying to avoid eye contact from the field as my brother and father looped by every few minutes. Your brother looks just like you, someone would say. The qualifying phrase, only smaller, was inevitable.

As much as my father ran, I never saw him cross a finish line. Heading out to the Great Texas Mosquito Festival early on a Saturday morning for the annual 5K Mosquito Chase was apparently too much to ask of his family.

I bet that first time he finished a race he was so happy. I wish I had that memory.

Today he shuffles around when he walks; a slight limp and dragging of his feet as he steadily goes.

Wait for your dad. Where's dad? He's back there somewhere.

He struggles against his own body daily. His left arm shakes. His face contorts as he tries to force his hands to grip and pull and lift. Physically unable to do the carpentry work that once supported a family of six, he spends his days trying to keep busy around the house and helping out on the occasional odd job with my uncle.

My father and I were never that close. That was more than obvious over the weekend. Only a handful of sentences were exchanged between us each time we were sent out to complete errands around town. The physical distance has dramatically decreased now that I have moved back to Texas, but I fear time will soon be against us.

Maybe all I'll end up doing is running around the neighborhood. Maybe all I'll ever be able to finish is a local 5K. Maybe no one will be there to cheer me on as I cross the finish line. What is certain is I will not be a failure. I will be just like my dad.