Running
by Kevin Brooks, December 1996

I am the proud father of a ten year old daughter on a track team. She is a natural born runner -- and fast, too. Very fast. Faster than any other kid her age - including boys, whom she loves to beat. I've loved watching her run these first few months on the team, especially as her form has improved. Her face when she runs has that glow - you know, that glow of intense enjoyment. The girl loves to run. Now, I used to love to run, too, when I was a kid, but I was never on a track team. And that's ok, because I think it's important to give children things that their parents never had. But I remember how I used to love to just run.

I did most of my running in gym class. And up until the fifth grade when I changed schools, I was the fastest kid in my class - with one exception. This girl Lynn would always beat me. No matter how hard I ran, no matter how fast I tried to make my legs go, Lynn would always beat me by this much. She and I would leave the rest of the class in our dust, but she was always just slightly out in front of me at the finish line - every time.

I also did a lot of running in my favorite sports. I loved baseball and running for fly balls in the outfield and running full tilt for the first base bag. But I really loved playing touch football in the street. You see in street football we would make use of the things around us -- our environment was our field. In our block in South Philadelphia, we played in the middle of the street with parked cars on either side - running a couple of plays and then having to stand back to let the traffic through. And back then, Thomas was our regular quarterback.

There were these three brothers who lived in our block for a while. Their names were Melvin, Howard, and Thomas. Melvin was the youngest, a couple years younger than me, but quick on his feet. Howard was about my age and almost as fast as I was. But their older brother Thomas, who was more than a year older, had an arm blessed for throwing footballs. He could throw them hard, he could throw them long, he could throw them high - and I mean way high. The hang time on some of his passes was incredible. Once when Thomas threw the ball, I caught an overnight touchdown. I went out long and he threw one of his high ones. While I was waiting for it to come down, I was called in for dinner, went to bed, woke up the next morning, ate breakfast, went to school, came home, changed my clothes, went back outside and caught the touchdown. NASA was puzzled.

When we played, there would usually be only two or three people on a team, but I always ran out for a pass. The huddles would sound like this: "OK Kevin, I want you to run out to the right up to the front of that Mustang, then run down until you get to the Pinto, then cut across the street to the Chevy, turn around and the ball will be there waiting for you." And when we ran the play, I'd do exactly what Thomas said, would leave defenders in my dust, turn around and there was the ball, waiting for me, chest high, twiddling its thumbs. Thomas was good!

My mother of course knew how much I liked to run. But one day when I was very young she told me that while it was fine for me to run in our neighborhood, never EVER run downtown. When ever I was downtown I was ALWAYS to walk, even if I was in a hurry. When I asked why she said, "Because I don't want anything to happen to you."

Now Philadelphia at that time was run by one Frank Rizzo - police chief then mayor. And Rizzo had built up the Philadelphia police department to almost a militaristic status. And most of the people who suffered under Rizzo's reign were blacks and other minorities. My mother explained to me that if you were young and black and running downtown, then you were guilty of something and you'd get stopped - hopefully before you got shot.

Now, I didn't want to get shot, so I obeyed my mother's request -- which was difficult, because I loved to run and I was always in a hurry. I also went downtown a lot because that's were my mother worked. She worked at the YWCA as a swimming instructor and life guard. I loved going down to hang out at the Y, swimming and playing. And because my mother was a swimming instructor, I learned how to swim at a very early age. So by the time I was 10, when I went swimming at the Y, I went in full regalia. Not just swim trunks, but mask, fins, snorkel, the whole bit. The bag I carried my swimming stuff in looked something like a big soft plastic suitcase, blue and white with a big 'TWA' on the side.

One bright sunny day I was in a hurry to get to the Y for swimming and I was walking - walking quickly - but walking downtown toward the Y. As I walked I noticed out of the corner of my eye a blue cop car creeping along following me. The cop pulled up, leaned his head out of his window and said, "Hey - what's in the bag!?" His words pierced me and I froze in my tracks. I was only 10 - I had never been stopped by a cop before. And I didn't want to be shot. I gathered up all courage and squeezed out, "Swimming stuff." There was a long pause as he glared at me. "Where are you goin'?" I thought to myself, whatever you do, don't stammer. He'll get suspicious and arrest me - or worse. "To the Y up the street." I was still frozen by his stare. It was a long moment. I saw nothing but his eyes and his squad car. The entire city disappeared. But eventually, he turned and slowly pulled away. I continued walking to the Y, although little slower this time.

Ever since that incident, I have never run downtown - in any city. Or when I have, it has been with a great deal of anxiety. Because somewhere deep inside, there is still a skinny little boy afraid of being shot for doing what he loves to do - for doing what comes naturally. Like my daughter, a natural runner. And although all this happened a long time ago, I have to wonder if things are really any different today. What world is my daughter running in?

My daughter's first track meet is in a couple of weeks and she, her coach and her dad expect her to do very well. One of the other track dads said that they usually go out to Burger King after the track meets. But I think that my daughter and I may just have to celebrate by running downtown.