Monthly Archives: May 2026

After 5th grade, over the summer heading into 6th grade, my son Lucan would be attending middle school, and one of the sports offerings was Cross Country running. I told Lucan that he had to participate in this sport. He was less than enthusiastic and he let out a deep sigh, as if entering into middle school with lockers and big kids wasn’t going to be hard enough. He didn’t want his dad putting more weight on him than he was already feeling.

“You can’t make me do that!” he said.

I normally wouldn’t, but I knew that cross country kids were the best kids and he’d been burned out by travel soccer. The only prerequisite was that he could run 2 miles without stopping. It didn’t matter how slow, he just had to be able to run without stopping. We went to the track, and I instructed Lucan to run 8 laps. It was a hot day, and although Lucan ran the entire distance without stopping, it was somewhat challenging and he was unsure if he wanted to do this. Lucan’s face was beet red, and I wasn’t even sure that this authoritarian fatherly move was the right thing. I remember barking at him as he completed lap after lap, calling out things he couldn’t hear or didn’t want to, and thinking the whole time that I was taking a risk. This could go the other way. He could reject the push and rebel and I’d lose something between us that I couldn’t get back.

To Lucan’s credit, he trusted me, as he has always trusted me (and I didn’t want to lose that trust). Lucan put forth the effort.

So began Lucan’s participation with running.

Lucan’s 6th grade cross country season was so great and memorable that he decided that he loved it. The very first meet of his sixth grade season was a large invitational with over 600 middle school runners, most of them 7th and 8th graders, and as a 6th grader, Lucan finished in the top 20 and won a medal. He was hooked.

Cross country led to track and Lucan excelled in track, too. He wasn’t just good, he wanted to be good. Each “good” fueled the desire for “great.” That’s where he started, and last night he ran his last middle school running competition, and it was one of the most memorable.

At the West Michigan Track and Field Championship last night Lucan placed 1st in the two mile. Trailing the first seven laps, he made his move in the last lap to win with a personal best time of 10:25. I was there on the back straightaway calling out his 400 m split times, reminding him that he mustn’t leave anything on the track. We’ve had many discussions about winning and losing, and we’ve determined that losing is leaving the track having not given all that he was capable of giving, and what is “hard” is digging all the way to the bottom of that effort. He finished the season with times in the 800 m, 1600 m and 3200 m that were among the top 10 best times in the entire state.

It’s interesting because this all started at the track on a hot day in June three years ago. Lucan had some ability, but he worked hard, and he learned that you must practice, practice, practice because if you don’t, someone somewhere else is and when he runs against them, he will lose and that’s a terrible feeling, a terrible way to lose. I am so grateful and proud of my son for these three years he’s given to running, and for trusting me on that hot day at the track.

I was thinking to myself, what if when Lady’s kids return to us this afternoon after school, they don’t have anything for their mom’s birthday, which was yesterday, but they were at their dad’s house yesterday. So I stopped for a blank birthday card. Turns out the girls had made a card for their mother. Not David, her 13-year-old son. At the dinner table, he began to explain to his mom that he didn’t have anything for her and hadn’t had any way to get her anything. I caught his eyes and mouthed, “I got you,” and at that moment he stopped making excuses for not having something for her. His eyes widened as if to eagerly say, Okay! Then he nodded coolly. Lady caught a part of this nonverbal communication, but held her silence. Dinner ended and David asked me if I wanted to play baseball catch. We tossed for about 40 minutes. We didn’t talk much, but the rhythmic back and forth of the baseball slapping baseball glove was our communication. I told him that when we’re done he could grab the card in my front seat. We concluded by making 25 consecutive throws and catches without a miss to end clean. Inside the house, David went missing. That’s when Lady asked where David was. I knew he was working on that card. I replied, He’s okay. Five minutes later, he emerged with card in hand. He approached her on the couch and tossed the card at his mom. She didn’t see it coming. It hit her in the face. He looked over at me. “That was smooth, wasn’t it?”

The old memories came out. Someone said “ah, those were the good ole days.” Someone asked, “where did all the time go?”

I felt relief. Gratitude, even.

I’ve been a single dad on 50% custody for 12 years. Every game. Every doctor’s appointment. Every meal I didn’t have to make but made anyway.

I showed up whether it was my time or not, and I could look back at all of it and call those the good ole days. I wouldn’t be wrong.

But I’m 50, and my good ole days are right now. In the last five months I’ve been baptized, married, folded nine people into something that we now call family, and bought three acres of country I don’t entirely know what to do with.

Same presence. New life.

I haven’t missed a thing in 12 years and I don’t plan to start now. I don’t wonder where the time went. I was there.

Later, pulling into the driveway, I looked out at the property and felt the weight of everything that needs doing. The grass. The leaves. The fence line. Many other things I haven’t named yet. More work than I can probably handle.

I wouldn’t ever go back. Her good ole days are in a photo. Mine are in an unfinished yard.