Balloon III (1024×683)
This weekend, I walked in my first CROP Hunger Walk.
It was their first walk, too. (Well, “walk” is a loose term here. They ran. And strolled. There wasn’t much walking on their part, really.)
Dad Walks (683×1024)
But it wasn’t his first walk.
My husband is a CROP Walk pro. He grew up walking every year with his family, with his church. Just like he did today.
Only now, with his own family and church and instead of being one of the little ones running ahead of the pack, he was one of the responsible ones hanging back, calling out after them.
Slow down. Be careful. Wait for us at the stop sign.
Sign and walkers
And while they charged ahead, we watched as he reminisced about how he used to run the five miles with ease when he was a “Big Time” cross country runner back in middle school.
Later that night, while he talked to his mom on the phone, I heard bits of the story about the time he “walked” with his milk bottle. “Grammie” will take the familiar trek yet again next week, likely retracing those same steps he once walked, bottle in hand, and ran, cross country shoes laced up tight.
So, no. This was not his first walk.
Dad Feet (1024×683)
But it was his first walk in this role. His first walk as a parent. As a dad who can appreciate the gift of being able to feed his children. Of watching them run ahead and leaving him in the dust.
Strong. Healthy. Carefree.
So now a new generation walks. And I join them. With gratitude for the generations who walked (and still walk) and hope for those to come. Hope that we’ll keep on walking until there is no longer a need to walk.
Until they can all be strong and healthy and carefree.