THE RACE
by
Dee Groberg
"Quit! Give up, you're beaten!"
They shout out and plead.
There's just too much against
you now,
This time you can't succeed.
And as I start to hang my
head
In front of failure's face,
My downward fall is broken
By the
memory of a race.
And hope refills my weakened
will
As I recall that scene,
For just the thought of that short
race
Rejuvenates
my being.
A children's race, young
boys, young men;
Now I remember well.
Excitement, sure, but also
fear;
It wasn't hard to tell.
They all lined up so full of
hope,
Each thought to win that
race;
Or tie for first, or if not
that,
At least take second place.
And fathers watched from off
the side,
Each
cheering for his son.
And each boy hoped to show
his Dad
That he would be the one.
The whistle blew and off they
went,
Young hearts
and hopes of fire.
To win, to be the hero there,
Was each
young boy's desire.
And one boy in particular,
His Dad was in the crowd,
Was running near the lead and
thought,
"My Dad will be so
proud."
But as he sped on down the
field
Across a shallow dip,
The little boy who thought to
win
Lost his step and slipped.
Trying hard to catch himself,
His hands flew out to brace.
And mid the laughter of the
crowd
He fell flat on his face.
So, down he fell and with him
hope.
He couldn't win it now.
Embarrassed, sad, he only
wished
To
disappear somehow.
But as he fell his Dad stood
up
And showed his anxious face
Which to
the boy so clearly said,
"Get up and win that
race!"
He quickly rose, no damage
done,
Behind a bit that's all.
And ran with all his mind and
might
To make up
for his fall.
So anxious to restore himself
To catch up and to win,
His mind went faster than his
legs,
He slipped and fell again.
He wished that he had quit
before
With only one
disgrace.
"I'm hopeless as a
runner now,
I shouldn't try to
race."
But in the laughing crowd he
searched
And found his father's face.
That steady look that said again,
"Get up and win the
race."
So, he jumped up to try
again,
Ten yards behind the last,
"If I'm to gain those
yards," he thought,
"I've got to run real
fast."
Exceeding everything he had,
He regained eight or ten,
But trying so hard to catch
the lead,
He slipped and fell again.
Defeat! He lay there silently,
A tear dropped from his eye.
"There's no sense
running anymore,
Three strikes I'm out--why
try."
The will to rise has
disappeared,
All hope had fled away.
So far behind, so error
prone,
Closer all
the way.
"I've lost so what's the
use," he thought,
"I'll live with my
disgrace."
But then he thought about his
Dad,
Who soon he'd
have to face.
"Get up," an echo
sounded low.
"Get up and take your
place.
You were not meant for
failure here,
Get up and win the
race."
With borrowed will, "Get
up," it said,
"You haven't lost at
all,
For winning's not much more
than this--
To rise each time you
fall."
So up he rose to win once
more.
And with a new commit,
He resolved that win or lose,
At least he wouldn't quit.
So far behind the others now,
The most he'd ever been.
Still he gave it all he had
And ran as
though to win.
Three times he'd fallen
stumbling,
Three times he'd rose again.
Too far behind to hope to
win,
He still ran to the end.
They cheered the winning
runner
As he crossed, first place.
Head high and proud and
happy;
No falling, no disgrace.
But when the fallen youngster
Crossed the line, last place,
The crowd gave him the greater cheer
for
finishing the race.
And even though he came in
last,
With head bowed low, unproud;
You would have thought he won
the race,
To listen to the crowd.
And to his Dad he sadly said,
"I didn't do so
well."
"To me you won,"
his Father said,
"You rose each time you
fell."
And now when things seem dark
and hard
And difficult to face,
The memory of that little boy
Helps me in
my race.
For all of life is like that
race,
With ups and downs and all,
And all you have to
do to win
Is rise each time you fall.
"Quit! Give up, you're beaten!"
They still shout in my face.
But another voice within me
says
"Get up and win the race."