 |
| Robert Baskwill and me, circa 1979. |
My dad was a Track and Field Official for around 40 years, nearly always manning the high jump at all levels from Junior High up to the level of High School Districts. I remember my first track meet at McCaskey High School in Lancaster at the District 3 Meet when I needed a stick to help place the bar back on the standards.
Now I get to watch my daughters at track meets in the 800 M,"mile", 100 M hurdles and 400 M! Nearly everything but the high jump. Soon, I hope that changes, as I'm sending my youngest to PSU Track Camp under the tutelage of Coach Fritz Spence in the multi-events.
Probably the only really good thing that I've brought to the parenting front was my promise to my kids that they can always buy a book, even if its my very last dollar. I've kept that promise to this very day, and there are few kids who have read as many and as large a variety of books in all the land. When I recently crabbily (see my previous post!) took my kids for another trip to the former Borders in town, now a Books-A-Million, they emerged with the entire works of Charlotte Bronte and The Lord of the Flies. They weren't for any school work, they were what they picked for "fun" reading. The gift of reading is one thing I have given my kids. I could have done much worse.
Does anyone have a story to tell about their dad involving track and field? Send me a blurb in the comments.
My father took me to a local AAU junior track meet when I was 11. I had never competed in any organized running event up to that age and of course had no idea what "training" was. One of my friends was competing in the 200 and 400, as was I, and his father was always bragging to my father about what his son did in this sport and that sport (a trait that I am sorta guilty of myself when it comes to my own kids). Anyway, I beat this father's kid in the 200 and won it. My father and I watched my friend's dad yell and berate his kid for losing to me, to the extent I actually felt sorry for my friend. So in the 400, my friend went out really hard to try not to let me beat him again and I just ran behind him and sat until the last 100 and then kicked and beat him in the 400 too. My father was very excited and I didn't really understand why. The only reason I vividly remember the events of that day is because of how excited he was, and I didn't understand why. It was just a couple of races. It wasn't until years later that my mother told me my father actually had tears in his eyes when he came home and showed her the 2 blue ribbons and told her what had happened - he was so happy I had won and beat the braggart's son. Twice. What I did that day as a little kid obviously meant an awful lot to my father. It was one of the few times something I did resulted in pure unadulterated joy for him. My dad died in December of 2008. He was the best father you could hope for, as well as my first and biggest track fan. Happy Father's Day, dad, where ever you are.
ReplyDeleteRMH
Just the kind of story I was hoping for!
ReplyDelete