Watching some of the Olympic ice skating made me miss my Aunt Seashell. She used to call me on the phone, and say,”Hey, there’s ice skating on television right now,” and I’d switch my television on. Once as a present, she bought my daughter and me tickets to an ice skating show. She died ten years ago, and I haven’t watched much ice skating since.
Of course, now when I look at the Olympic athletes, they remind me of my own kids. I kept looking up at the screen to see scruffy young men with long hair, totally focused on their sports, going all out to win, often the same age as Boy in Black or Shaggy Hair Boy, and I’d recognize that same intensity that drives my kids to succeed on the Ultimate field and at the piano and in the classroom.
Many of my friends say that they hate it when skaters or skiers fall, but I like watching the dramatic tumbles. At the Olympics, you’ve got athletes who are the best in their country at what they do — and yet, they still make mistakes. I find that strangely comforting.