Friday, August 26, 2016

Refelctions on a story he told me about game time at Trail Life

My straight-as-an-arrow son
The black and white one
He stops in the relay race when he stumbles
To regain his balance and then continue on, 
Hopping one-footed because to touch the other to the ground is against
The rules he lives by, the rules he breathes, 
He understands them, they make him feel 
Safe. Fair. Secure.
He will have a hard life in this gray world of in-between 
Neither right nor wrong
Where his own thoughts never go
He will be hurt, I fear, by never quite being able to comprehend 
The thoughts of a mind other than his own.
Never being able to stoop a little sideways and see it from their point of view.
He may be lonely. Alone.
Few people can match the stride of the straight-as-an-arrow man.
He must learn to bend a bit, to allow himself to be somewhat molded, to stoop
But, please God, not too much
Let him always keep his knife's-edge, unwavering honesty
His slow-pacing, dogged determination to be correct, to know
His black and white self, hopping on one foot only 
All the way
To the finish line.

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