( S. L. Brown, (Sandra Louise) was my mother. She passed away a few years back. This story was written by her in 1985, when she went back to college and entered a writing contest. The time frame of this story takes place in 1972, when I was nine years old. She was a writer and had a column in Buffalo. She is my ongoing inspiration)
Shelley sat on the porch steps reading the local newspaper. I enjoy watching her. Something about her makes heads turn. I’m not sure if it’s looks or the way she carries herself, or maybe the mysterious qualities that envelops her facial expressions. Her long blond hair falls softly around her oval-shaped face. Her green eyes are enhanced by thick lashes and gently arched brows. She’s a quiet type person, soft-spoken, often described as a “good listener.”
She felt my gaze and looked up. “Mom, the first, the very first co-ed try-outs for track are going to be held in two weeks.” I shrugged, not being particularly interested in track, but pleased about the co-ed try-outs. “I’m going to enter, I’m a good sprinter." She left the paper on the steps and took off to round up some other girls.
A few days later, she told me was unable to interest her friends in the try-outs. She had been practicing mornings and evenings and was determined to enter as the only girl if necessary. I shuddered at the thought. I knew times were changing, but my fifties upbringing made me feel cowardly. I felt liberated to a point, but physical competition with males was out of my league. I kept my doubts to myself. Her discipline for training amazed me.
The day of try-outs arrived. One of my fears was confirmed immediately - Shelley was the only girl present. I watched her stand quietly in line with her signed entry form. I ached for her. She looked so dainty and feminine among the sea of muscular boys. She walked back to my side and waited for the line-ups to be called. I put an arm around her shoulder and suggested we could leave and try later when other girls were willing to participate. She looked at me amazed, saying, “Mom, I’ve worked too hard to quit, I stand a chance and I’m going to try.”
Her name was called and she moved quickly toward the group. The boys looked at her and then turned their heads, either to the side or downward. I sat in the bleachers squeezing my sweaty palms together. The boys were racing two at a time in the 100 yard dash. The winner of the dash went to one side and the loser to the other side. I heard a few remarks around me about the “crazy girl” trying to compete with the boys, a few bits of laughter and a few hearty, “why nots!”
Shelley and a slightly taller boy lined up in the blocks. My heart was pounding from nervousness, but the lump in my throat was from pride. The starting shot rang in my ears as they took off. Shelley was in the lead, way ahead of her opponent. It was an emotional sight. Her long blond hair flying, arms up, hands curled into fists and running for all she was worth. In the split second it took me to notice, I saw that her head was too far forward. Straining, willing herself onward, she fell. She landed on her face and in a flash, got to her feet and finished the race. She lost by one and a half seconds.
I felt hot tears running down my cheeks, tears of sadness for her pain, tears of joy for her courage. The crowd stood and cheered for her, clapping long and hard. She may have lost the race but her spirit made her a winner.
