This past Sunday, I had the honor of running in the 4-mile “Super Bowl” race in Central Park with my 11-year-old. As we ran side by side, we passed many places that made up my son’s childhood.
We passed the museum we went to when he was a baby in his stroller, the playground where he took his first steps, the restaurant where he had his first grilled cheese, the street we walked down on his first day of pre-school (and the bench on which we ate ice cream on his last), the dirt path where his grandfather taught him to ride a bike, the duck pond where we fed the fish, the rocks he used to climb, the hill where he first went sledding. We literally and figuratively ran through the memories that made up his childhood.
And unlike when he was a baby – and I would be the one to wait for him and offer words of encouragement when he felt like giving up – today the roles were reversed. He easily could have run faster than I, yet he ran right next to me. “You’re doing great, Mom,” he would say from time to time. And then with a mile to go, I could feel him wanting to sprint to the finish, but also not wanting to leave me.
“Go,” I said, not wanting to hold him back.
“Are you sure, Mom?”
“Yes,” I gestured with a thumbs up. And he was off. I had to let him go. And when I crossed the finish line, he was there waiting for me.
Here’s to running the race of life together, but letting them cross the finish line all by themselves.
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