Drew, my grandson, The Runner.

Shoe prototype for the patent sold to NIKE in the 1990’s.

There once was a young boy who was different, and knew he was different.  He had trouble catching or kicking a ball and couldn’t write his name for beans or tie his shoes on the first try.  These things were pointed out to him by his friends who poked at him and made fun.  Why can’t you do this or do that, like we can? School was tough, especially when the teachers didn’t get it.  And they didn’t.  Nobody but he and his parents did.  How could he take a test, if he couldn’t write his name, even if he knew the answers, which he did?  And timed tests were impossible, since he couldn’t get his first answer on paper on the proper line without the pencil point wandering.  Just dumb, others would say. 

They were wrong, he was smart, a boy who was smart but in a different way. Then he was diagnosed with dysgraphia, a genetic condition which had affected his motor, writing, and word processing abilities.  His mother and father, who had always been there for him, placed him into a school where the kids were all different in one way or another, but who were all normal, different but normal for them.  And he prospered.  Made new friends.  And he learned.  And participated.  Was elected to the student council and, cast in the school plays.  He even sang in public, on the stage.  And all the while, he kept growing and getting stronger.  

In his freshman year in high school, he went out for the cross-country track team.  He was tall, long-legged, and slender with a deep-lunged chest and broad shoulders, built perfectly for long distance running.  There were no balls to throw or straight lines to worry about, except for the finish line at the end of the race.  He was able to be who he was, who he had always been, a runner, persistent and worthwhile, who had just been on the wrong track. 

Now he ran for himself, enjoying himself, and ending each race with a kick that was noticed by his teachers and his coach, a kick that had always been inside him, and he was finishing strong and getting better and better.    By his sophomore year, he was doing well, on and off the track.  When he was in class or when he was running, he felt not so much different as he did unique, which was the hallmark of all successful people and, especially, of all good runners, particularly the best of them.   He and his team were on their way to the state cross-country meet.  He would be on the track again in the spring, probably in the mile.  A tough race, but the harder the job, the better chance he stood, because he didn’t quit, he had never let himself quit.  He was unique and had found his kick.

He was in the race now for the long haul, to win, and he would, because he already had.

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