After cancelled flights and having to fly back from Guam via, Tokyo, Hawaii, and Dallas, we are a bit wobbly but have finally returned from the first leg of our USO – With You All The Way – World Tour. We visited bases on Hawaii and Guam (which is in the western Pacific Ocean). We are off to Korea and Japan next week to start leg 2.

Last week I was reminded of the power of friendship during our final day in Hawaii. After our presentation a young boy came up to me and thanked me profusely for coming to his school and helping them with their feelings. He was fighting back tears so hard he was trembling.

“I really miss my dad,” he said, his bottom lip quivering. “He’s been deployed so many times. And he’s gone again. I’m scared he may get hurt or…or …(deep painful sigh)… or he may never come back.”

A lone tear escaped, without permission, from his welling eyes.

“It just hurts so much,” he said, quickly rubbing the tear from his cheek and glancing around to make sure none of his classmates had seen him cry. “It really hurts.”

I crouched down and looked directly into his eyes and said, “I’m proud of you man. It takes a brave person to express their real feelings, like you’re doing right now, especially in front of friends and classmates. It takes a lot of courage. Seriously.”

He cocked his head. “For real?”

“I sometime cry when I’m hurting,” I said. “And I’m a grown man, dude.”

“You do?”

“Uh huh.” I replied.

And then the tears came. Oh my goodness. Big painful tears spilled from the little guys eyes and rolled down his ruddy cheeks framed by his long, tousled, hair.

You could instantly see the relief on his face. Such relief. It was amazing.

Then something remarkable happened.

His buddy (a River Phoenix look-alike) who was standing next to him, put his arm around the boy and said, “It’s okay. You helped me when my dad was gone. I’ll help you. Okay?”

The crying boy nodded.

“I’m with you all the way,” said the other boy, patting him on the back and putting his arm around him again. “I’m with you all the way.”

I said goodbye to the boys and went back to the stage to get my bag. I didn’t realize I was crying until a little girl, who was also in the presentation, handed me a crumpled up Kleenex and smiled, knowingly.

(Thanks Woody Englander for capturing the scene with your camera as the kids walked back to class and thanks, to my social work sidekick, Stephanie, for helping us make the first leg of our tour such a great success.)

I love to run.

Especially on days like today.  There was a magnificent sunrise. White swans floated silently through the mist rising from the Colorado River that runs near my house.

The stirring city was so silent this morning.  All I heard was my breath and the rhythm of my feet striking the path as I ran along the hike and bike trail that meanders alongside the river.

I love to run.

Especially on days like today. Where my breath comes easily and my muscles work comfortably, in unison, like a well-greased machine.

I love to run.

Especially on days like today when the words of my high school coaches – telling me I was not good enough to make the team and that I should join a club or play chess – mean nothing.

I love the fact that today I don’t need to be PICKED to run.

I don’t need permission to run.

I don’t need to try out to run.

I love the fact that I CHOOSE to run.

After failing as an athlete, in the eyes of the coaches throughout my school life, I enjoy the fact that I CANNOT and WILL NOT be cut from my team, this team of one, by anyone other than myself.

I love to run.

Especially in different places like Boston, Cape Town, Bujumbura, London, Nairobi and even Bronkhorstspruit.

I love to run.

Especially at dawn when I feel the spirit of my late dad running alongside me, the two of us breathing as one.