I remember Easter Sunday of 1992 just like it was yesterday. At 12:48 a.m., I witnessed the miraculous birth of my son, Robert. I remember holding him in my arms for the very first time and looking at him and wondering, "God, how can I be worthy of such a beautiful gift?" As the years have gone by, Robert has grown into a great guy, and is one of the most loving and affectionate people you will ever meet. He has an amazing sharp wit and sense of humor. He loves video games just like most boys his age (14 years old and a freshman in high school), and he and his friends have a great time when they get together and play them.

Like me in my youth, Robert has never been one for team sports. I did manage when he was in the 7th grade to get him to run on his junior high cross country team, not because I was a runner, but I wanted him to be involved in something at his school. Also like me in my youth, Robert was not in the "elite" category of other runners, so he typically finished somewhere towards the back of the pack. I encouraged him regardless of where he placed, because to me as a runner the simple fact that he was out there doing his best is really what mattered.

I don't remember exactly how it happened, maybe it had to do with starting high school this year, maybe not, but he came to me in late August of 2006 and asked if I would train him to run the Aramco Half-Marathon (13.1 miles) coming up in January in Houston. I set out a schedule for him and he started training around the first week of September. I also took him to the big sign-up party in mid-September where a couple of thousand walkers and runners go each year, and we both signed up. It is considered to be the kick-off event for the Chevron Houston Marathon and the Aramco Half-Marathon, and one of the main reasons for going is to get the exclusive "In Training" t-shirt. I wanted him to be inspired by the surroundings and camaraderie of the other runners, and it worked. The next day he went to school proudly wearing his t-shirt, and his mental attitude towards his training took on an even stronger purpose.

As the weeks went by and the training got tougher and more miles were being logged, I could tell a change in Robert's demeanor about himself, and it was positive. I think the first time he realized that he could really do this was when he ran his first 10 miler. There is something indescribable to you as a walker or runner when you hit those double-digit numbers, and it really boosted his confidence. From that point, it was about 5 weeks to the race, and he logged a couple of 12 milers two weekends in a row before I got him to start his taper to rest up for the race.

Since Robert is not involved in any team sports at his high school, as kids can sometimes be, and I experienced plenty of it growing up, there were those at school who from the moment he signed up made fun of Robert, told him he could never do it, would say things like, "YOU are running the half-marathon??? No way." There are days when he would come home feeling somewhat defeated about it, and I would tell him not to listen to them, that he would prove them wrong. I told him these kids acting this way were in the minority, but just like it would do to the rest of us, the words still stung and lingered in his mind.

As the day of the race drew closer, our whole family worked hard that week and weekend to make this all about Robert. I took him with me to a couple of the motivational speeches I gave, and I was fortunate enough to arrange for him to be on TV to talk about his training on the morning of the race. Everything we did that week and on the day of the race was to make him feel special about his effort.

When race day finally came, my plan was simple. He and I would start out together until we reached the top of the first overpass where you could see what looked like a wave of thousands of runners. I wanted to be beside Robert when he saw that for the first time. After that point, I dropped back 100 yards or so, let him get ahead of me and do his own pace. As we passed each mile marker, I would run to catch up with him, ask him how he was doing, he would give me a thumbs up, and then I would drop back again. It was all about him, and when I took my walk breaks to let him get ahead each time, I felt like I was walking on a cloud.

I have never in my life seen anyone so determined to go the distance of a race without stopping, and he did just that. At mile 12, I ran up beside him and put my arm around him and said, "Buddy, you are my hero", to which he replied, "I'm my own hero today, too." Then, he told me that when we turned onto the street where you could see the finish line, he had something he wanted to tell me. When that moment came, he turned to me as we rounded the final corner and could see the finish line in the distance, and with a look in his eyes and a tone in his voice that I will never forget, he said, "Dad, this is for ALL the people who told me I could never do this", and with that, he began to sprint the last few hundred yards all the way to the finish line, and I simply stayed back and let him go alone, reveling in the moment of following in my son's footsteps. He buried all of his hurt and doubt that day, and my final great memory was hugging him while he sobbed on my shoulder after getting his medal. He was concerned about other people seeing him cry, and I just told him to look around. Everyone was crying and hugging each other for their own special reasons. I told him that every single runner, regardless of ability, loved him and respected and appreciated him, and that we all understood the flood of emotion he was experiencing. This was what this whole experience of the months of training was all about... to hold in your heart that one moment when you cross that finish line and you have achieved the greatness within yourself.

I love you, son.