Lucas Savela's Tied Tongue Tumbles On

My son Patrick was six years old that hot spring morning, a rather chunky boy with brown hair, and cheeks full of freckles, who desperately wanted to please his father. So after winning his first race on his first field day, he rushed up to me beaming, blue ribbon in hand. But that event had been a straight-ahead sprint, and the next, an obstacle course, was sure to be more difficult. Sure enough, early in the race, Patrick tripped and fell heavily, sprawled in the dirt in front of all of his classmates.He rose and began to run, but tripped again at the next obstacle and fell. I watched helplessly as tears of humiliation began to pour down his cheeks. Somehow, Patrick found the courage to get to his feet and stumble across the finish line long after all the other kids. He was sobbing by the time I could get to him and take him into my arms.

At home later that night, I shut off his cartoons to tell Patrick that I was more proud of him for getting up and finishing that difficult second race than for winning the first one, and judging by his broad smile, he seemed to understand. It was a moment as a father that I will always remember. (My Christmas present from my son that year was the fifth-place ribbon he had been awarded for finishing the difficult race.)