WhatGoesAroundComesAround_DavisRob

emain a mystery). At the end, just about everyone lay sprawled in the
grass exhausted from the intensity of the game. Everyone, that is, except
Clayton. There he was, the oldest one on the field, bustling about
handing out cans of soda and patting everyone on the back. “Good
game, good game,” he could be heard saying over and over.
I don’t know if he noticed me that day, but I sure noticed him. “Wow, “
I thought, “Here’s the oldest guy on the field and he’s a dynamo. He’s
all over the place. How does he do it?” I resolved that I would find
out. Not long after, I had an opportunity.
Later that week I had to see someone in Clayton’s department. When I
was finished, I gathered my nerve and marched to his office to see him.
I’d just ask him directly, I figured. Well, he wasn’t in having just left,
his very official secretary informed me. I must have looked very
disappointed because she asked me what the problem was and whether
she could help.
I was very hesitant and a bit embarrassed to explain that I wanted to ask
Clayton, the senior partner of the firm, how in heck he could be in such
great shape at his age, but something in her manner encouraged me. I
blurted out the whole story of the game and how I was compelled to find
out more about this man.
She smiled and told me to sit down. “You know,” she said, “He’s a very
private and shy person. If you asked him directly, I doubt that he would
even be able to answer since the truth might sound a bit like bragging,
which he’d never do. I will fill you in, though, if you promise to keep it a
secret just between us.” I did and have, until now. To compromise, I
have changed his name in this story and hope that I’m still being
sufficiently true to the spirit of that word. If not, I know I’ll pay for it.
Clayton, she explained, was a man who believed in a balanced life. He