I have long been enthralled by relay races. By the choreography of passing the baton from one hand to another. By the split-second accuracy. By the blind faith each runner places in the other to make it all work.
Last Saturday, at the second track meet of the season, my son Charlie was part of the quartet of trust.
I'm a writer who loves to run and who is basically optimistic, albeit a bit hard on myself.
My son (that lovable kid here) may have spent too much of his summer vacation neither reading books not cleaning out his car, but he does have a great sense of humor. In other words, he usually thinks I'm funny.