make me
very
happy, Daddy.”
“Then that’s that.” He pulled out his cellphone. “I’ll call my lawyer and—”
“No!” Dakota screamed as he practically jumped across the table. “Perhaps we can discuss this further.”
“I’m afraid the only discussion I’m going to be having is with the newspapers and TV networks.”
“What?”
“We’re not just going to fight this in the courts; we’ll be taking it to the court of public opinion. I want the world to know that you consider people who are wearing traditional Kenyan tribal dress as being like part of some sort of sideshow or circus … or what was that term you used? Yes, like people going to a
costume
party. That will certainly get people’s attention, especially the other runners. Aren’t the best marathon runners in the world from Kenya?”
He nodded his head slightly. His mouth was open, and there was a stunned, shocked look in his eyes.
“When they’ve heard that you’ve been insulting their countrymen I’m sure they’ll withdraw from the race, leaving you a definite cut
below
the rest in terms of race competitors.”
Dakota looked like a trapped animal. He didn’t see any way out.
“It’s all so … so unfortunate that we have to go this route,” my father said. “Although there is that one other choice.”
“Other choice?” Dakota squeaked.
“Yes. It’s so simple. Let them run. They are qualified.”
“They are?” Dakota asked.
“Alexandria, what was that story you told me about a lion?” he asked.
“Yes, of course. Samuel once ran after a wounded lion, tracking it for days, never stopping. He ran at least sixty miles.”
“Which I believe is more than two marathons, is it not?” my father asked.
“Almost two and a half,” Dakota admitted.
“Then they are certainly qualified to run, wouldn’t you agree?”
Dakota nodded.
“And you are allowing them to compete, correct?”
Again Dakota nodded. He knew he had no choice.
“That is excellent. Of course, that does still leave you with one little problem.”
“It does?”
“Yes. What will your sponsor think if the three men wearing tire treads win the marathon they’re sponsoring? They won’t be happy.”
“Not at all.”
My father got up from his chair, circled around the desk, and put a hand on Dakota’s shoulder. “You know, son, I like you. I really do. And that’s why I’m going to make sure that embarrassment doesn’t happen.”
“You are? How?”
“I’m going to make sure they run this race in your sponsor’s shoes.”
“You will?”
“Of course. I’m assuming that you’ll give them all shoes.”
I almost laughed. I couldn’t believe my father’s nerve. First he’d won the fight, and now he was going to add insult to injury.
Dakota let out a big sigh. “Do you know their sizes?”
“I’m not even sure if they know their sizes,” my father said. “But we’ll send them in, and I’m sure you can help them find just the right shoes.”
My father slapped Dakota on the back. “It’s always best when we can resolve a situation so that everybody wins, and this is one of those cases!” he trumpeted.
“Yes … yes, it is,” Dakota agreed.
Personally, I couldn’t see any way that Dakota had won, other than that he’d been allowed the illusion he hadn’t been beaten into the ground.
My father and I started to walk out of the office.
“Wait!” Dakota called out.
This had all seemed too easy—what now?
“If you give me an address I’ll arrange to have their chips delivered—the electronic chips that they wear in the race.”
“Chips?” my father asked. I was a little confused about that too.
“Each runner has an electronic chip that shows his progress throughout the route to prove that he ran the whole race.”
“Are you questioning their integrity?” my father demanded.
“No, of course not!” Dakota exclaimed. “All runners have chips—it’s just protocol for everybody!”
“Well … then,
very
happy, Daddy.”
“Then that’s that.” He pulled out his cellphone. “I’ll call my lawyer and—”
“No!” Dakota screamed as he practically jumped across the table. “Perhaps we can discuss this further.”
“I’m afraid the only discussion I’m going to be having is with the newspapers and TV networks.”
“What?”
“We’re not just going to fight this in the courts; we’ll be taking it to the court of public opinion. I want the world to know that you consider people who are wearing traditional Kenyan tribal dress as being like part of some sort of sideshow or circus … or what was that term you used? Yes, like people going to a
costume
party. That will certainly get people’s attention, especially the other runners. Aren’t the best marathon runners in the world from Kenya?”
He nodded his head slightly. His mouth was open, and there was a stunned, shocked look in his eyes.
“When they’ve heard that you’ve been insulting their countrymen I’m sure they’ll withdraw from the race, leaving you a definite cut
below
the rest in terms of race competitors.”
Dakota looked like a trapped animal. He didn’t see any way out.
“It’s all so … so unfortunate that we have to go this route,” my father said. “Although there is that one other choice.”
“Other choice?” Dakota squeaked.
“Yes. It’s so simple. Let them run. They are qualified.”
“They are?” Dakota asked.
“Alexandria, what was that story you told me about a lion?” he asked.
“Yes, of course. Samuel once ran after a wounded lion, tracking it for days, never stopping. He ran at least sixty miles.”
“Which I believe is more than two marathons, is it not?” my father asked.
“Almost two and a half,” Dakota admitted.
“Then they are certainly qualified to run, wouldn’t you agree?”
Dakota nodded.
“And you are allowing them to compete, correct?”
Again Dakota nodded. He knew he had no choice.
“That is excellent. Of course, that does still leave you with one little problem.”
“It does?”
“Yes. What will your sponsor think if the three men wearing tire treads win the marathon they’re sponsoring? They won’t be happy.”
“Not at all.”
My father got up from his chair, circled around the desk, and put a hand on Dakota’s shoulder. “You know, son, I like you. I really do. And that’s why I’m going to make sure that embarrassment doesn’t happen.”
“You are? How?”
“I’m going to make sure they run this race in your sponsor’s shoes.”
“You will?”
“Of course. I’m assuming that you’ll give them all shoes.”
I almost laughed. I couldn’t believe my father’s nerve. First he’d won the fight, and now he was going to add insult to injury.
Dakota let out a big sigh. “Do you know their sizes?”
“I’m not even sure if they know their sizes,” my father said. “But we’ll send them in, and I’m sure you can help them find just the right shoes.”
My father slapped Dakota on the back. “It’s always best when we can resolve a situation so that everybody wins, and this is one of those cases!” he trumpeted.
“Yes … yes, it is,” Dakota agreed.
Personally, I couldn’t see any way that Dakota had won, other than that he’d been allowed the illusion he hadn’t been beaten into the ground.
My father and I started to walk out of the office.
“Wait!” Dakota called out.
This had all seemed too easy—what now?
“If you give me an address I’ll arrange to have their chips delivered—the electronic chips that they wear in the race.”
“Chips?” my father asked. I was a little confused about that too.
“Each runner has an electronic chip that shows his progress throughout the route to prove that he ran the whole race.”
“Are you questioning their integrity?” my father demanded.
“No, of course not!” Dakota exclaimed. “All runners have chips—it’s just protocol for everybody!”
“Well … then,
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