teaching her to fly, a story of letting go by holding on

The child who does not love soccer stood beside her mother in the sunlight filtering in between heavy winter clouds.  The mother, who loved soccer, watched the birds aimlessly move from wire to wire. 

“When I am done with gymnastics I want to run.”

“Did you say run?” Her mother asked.

“Yes, I want to be a runner.  I want to run and hike all the time.  Would you take me running with you?”

Her mother stood thinking remembering soccer, remembering tears falling from behind thick glasses down fat cheeks, remembering the begging and pleading, the abandoned gear, remembering thinking this child is not made for this.  

The feelings are close, when hand-me-downs are offered cleats and shinguards are always pasted over with sadness; this child is not.For all the things she is she, she is herself and that is more than anyone could have ever wanted in a child.

“I want to run.  Will you teach me?”

Her mother nodded; nine is a good year.  And the child who does not love soccer became a runner at the side of her mother, who loves soccer very much but loves running even more.