In My Father’s Shoes

My father’s track shoes. I don’t remember how they came to be in my possession, only that they did. My dad was an All-American track and field athlete who specialized in the 100 meter dash. He qualified for the 1980 Olympics, but his shining moment never transpired. America boycotted that summer’s Moscow games in protest of the Soviet Union. Eventually my dad entered the Army where he would serve for 26 years.

In 2005 my family moved to Georgia, and that’s when I first recall seeing my father’s track cleats: red suede puma track spikes with white stripes. And shortly thereafter, I fell in love with track and field just like he did.

I could have purchased new track spikes that first year of high school, but looking back, I think I wanted to channel my dad’s speed and intensity, his determination and tenacity. And so there I was, lacing up my dad’s spikes practice after practice. I would run wind sprints and conduct drills in my father’s shoes.

I was never the premier sprinter that he was. I never ran in college and I certainly never attained All-American status, but I did win a few accolades of my own. My team won the state championship; I was the first leg of the state record setting 4x400 team, and I won an individual state title in the long jump where I also set a new state record. To me, it did not matter that the cleats were a littleeee too big, because I simply wanted to be like my dad.

I learned about kindness, service to others and empathy from my mother. I learned about self respect and how to face and overcome obstacles from both of my parents; I figured out how to boldly break through those obstacles, and take it all in stride, from my father.

Although I do not literally wear his shoes anymore, I try every day to follow in his footsteps. Happy Birthday dad. I love you.