I was off work this morning, but I awoke early anyway, thanks to a conversation between Taylor and the mom that was conducted at long range and high decibels. Because the weather was clear and crisp -- sweatshirt weather in the early hours -- after the kids left for school, I took a walk through the neighborhood to KSU, leaving the digital camera at home this time. After returning, I showered, replied to some mail, and visited some friends online. By ten o'clock, I was driving to Bishop Stadium where I would watch Owen compete in another track meet.

Crossing the track to sit in the east bleachers instead of in the westside stadium seating, I arrived just a few minutes before his heat in the hurdles, the first of his two events. He had his game face on as he loitered in his lane, passing the time in idle, monosyllabic conversation with other members of his heat. With many kids, to make eye contact with a parent at a time like this would be unpardonable. Here among his peers, the kid stands as a man of the world in his own right, and parents are, well, irrelevant. They never happened.

I was just two strides away from his lane as I crossed the track. Caught off guard by my presence on the track, he made eye contact, but maintained his set look. Bad time to remind him to do his algebra homework between heats? Probably. Bad time to remind him to have fun? Of course! That would undercut the seriousness of the race, for which his face was so intently set.

So I said "good race," a short, undemanding bullet, and he nodded his acknowledgment.

As I seated myself in the bleachers, I imagined that the ensuing exchange between Owen and his runningmates ended with his shrugged assertion that he'd never seen that guy before.

Taken with the digital camera, the photo of Owen isn't what I'd hoped it might be. For sporting events, I'll have to remember to tote a 35 mm camera, a machine with a faster shutter speed than my digital camera.