The turning point occurred at mile 2.4. My mother, distracted by her theological running lecture, tripped over a sprinkler head and fell. She scraped her knee. Blood, dirt, and the realization of mortality.
I still don’t believe in miracles. But I believe my mother believes in me. And for a nine-year-old physicist in Texas, that is a sufficiently stable variable. young sheldon s01e22 m4a
“That’s Modalism, Mother,” I corrected, not breaking my efficient walking pace. “And it was declared heresy in the fourth century. You are trying to convert me back to Christianity with poor thermodynamics.” The turning point occurred at mile 2
We crossed the finish line last. My father won the race, but immediately ate the cake out of spite so Agent Jefferies couldn’t have it. This was a pyrrhic victory. He then had to lie down for forty-five minutes. Blood, dirt, and the realization of mortality
“The cake is a vector for saturated fat,” I replied. “But you are a vector for my existence. Statistically, you are more valuable.”