The Race

Chris wrote this for our pastor to read during Rick's memorial service. There have been so many positive comments and requests for it that I decided I should post it here. THE RACE Chris Ulrickson May 16, 2010 There are many stories I could tell about my dad. I have known him as long as I can remember and I can remember quite a ways back. When my did first went into the hospital after his heart attack and his prognosis was uncertain, one memory of him stood out from the rest. I knew he would be okay. I knew he would survive the surgery. It was a late fall evening in the early- to mid-80s when I was in my early teens, I recall. My mom, my dad, my sister and I were sitting around talking. I cannot now remember what the conversation was, but my dad told me if I did something (I cannot remember what that would have been now.), he would "whoop" me. Being that I was young, cocky and stupid, I told my dad, "You would have to catch me first." The challenge was on. My boast stirred my dad up and he asked me if I actually thought I could out run him. "Who was he kidding?" I thought. Here I was young, running in P.E. at my school every day, climbing trees and riding my bicycle around Seabrook all the time. My dad was overweight and I could not recall ever seeing him run anywhere. He didn't even own a pair of sneakers. I didn't have to think about it, or maybe I should say I DIDN'T think about what I was going to say. I told him, "Yes, I can out run you." Quietly, my dad got up and grabbed his loafer shoes. He had a cigarette dangling from his lips as he slipped on his shoes and said, "Let's go." I put on my shoes and we went outside to the street. It was dark out and the street was illuminated by the porch lights from the houses. We lined up and my dad let me say, "Go." The race was on. We were racing to the end of the street. I knew I was going to beat him. I started off strong--or so I thought--until in the light I could see the silhouette of my dad running ahead of me. I could hear the sound of his loafers hitting the concrete in a steady cadence as he left me behind. Dad won. It wasn't that I was a slow runner or I let my dad win. It was none of these things. My dad won because he had the drive to prove to me that I should never make outrageous boasts. When I got to the end of the street, we were both out of breath and breathing hard. Neither of us spoke. There was nothing to say. Silently we both walked back to the house worn out from the full-out sprint. I realized a lot of things about my dad in that moment. I realized if my dad wanted to "whoop" me he was going to and I couldn't out run him. I also realized that I was stupid to be so boastful. Mainly, I realized you should never, under any circumstances, underestimate my dad because he will prove you wrong. We went inside and never talked about that race ever again. I never made a stupid boast or challenge to my dad again. Over the years, I saw my dad in many acts of courage, strength and kindness. In later years and over time, I realized I never had a chance that night. My dad had been through many situations and experiences I couldn't have competed with that night. I knew as he lay there in the Cooley 6A Intensive Care Unit that he was going to make it through the surgery and be back home with Mom sooner than later. I never ever had a doubt about my dad's strength and courage. In my memory, I can still see my dad's silhouette running off to my right beating me badly in that race. It is a memory I have held all these years and a lesson I will never forget. I told my mom this story when dad was still in the hospital. She told me that Dad had also talked to her about that race very recently. He told her he didn't think he could beat me in a race now. I wouldn't even try because the way I see it, he already won.