Welcome to the games of the 22nd Winter Olympiad, or is it the 19th? You know, XIX, or something like that. I’ve lost track along the way. But it’s OK. Trust me. I’ve been here before, and not. And so, I would surmise, have you, dear reader.
As I penned these words, the youngest of my progeny looked up from the television and told my Little Frau and I that “we should take up ice dancing.” We told her no, of course, and therein lies a slippery slope of another variety altogether. The era of life that would have allowed such an undertaking has come and gone, but we are OK with it.
It seems that I can measure life and its seasons by the games of the Olympiad, winter style. When was that major life event? My eldest daughter was born slightly before Lillehammer, Norway, 1994, I seem to recall. I can close my eyes today and see Elvis Stojko’s powerful routine skating to the soundtrack of “Dragon,” the Bruce Lee story, and suddenly I’m lying in the floor of our little house in Texas with an 18 month old crawling all over me.
Today, Elvis has left the building, and that building is currently located in Sochi, Russia, at least for today. The kids who are currently skating for the gold were not yet even a gleam in their parent’s eye back in that day gone by. And that little 18 month old? Well, she is suddenly 18 years older…and then some, and is soon to be speeding (down the aisle) for the gold herself. “Gold” being the shining interlocking rings of holy matrimony. I wonder if she would let me play the soundtrack to “Dragon” as I accompany her for the processional? I digress.
Along the way from the memory of Lillehammer, there was Nagano Japan, and Salt Lake City, and Torino Italy, and finally Vancouver British Columbia. I remember bits and pieces of each: personalities, performances, and perilous falls.
It seems like only last week that I watched a teenage Shawn White come to fame in the newly minted Olympic sport of the snowboarder’s Half Pipe, and in just these past few nights we watched as his golden reign suddenly and painfully came to an end as “the old man” patriarch of his craft. The making of and the training for these events is four or more years in the making, and it punctuates around a performance of four minutes, with the “win or lose” edge often decided by a mere four-one-hundreths of a second.
That’s a great reminder for how life can be. Hat 3 of 26 (twenty-seven, save one) reminds me of just such a flash of life moment. As the games of the nineteenth winter Olympiad were beginning in early 2002, our nation was reeling from a perilous fall of a different variety entirely, that being the event that was September 11, 2001, the loss of the twin towers of the World Trade Center and many of their occupants, and the joy of life that departed from our living rooms in the flash of that fateful day.
Circa 2002, I regularly and routinely traversed from the land of OK to the northwest quadrant of these United States for work that I was doing in Portland, Oregon. This usually involved a 90 minute stopover in the Salt Lake City airport, amidst all of the hype, pageantry, and preparation for the expected games. Our nation had not yet truly begun to heal from 9/11, and these games were to be a much needed salve on the wound plaguing our hearts.
While I did not possess a ticket to those games, I flew into Salt Lake one night shortly after the opening ceremony pageantry. From the cabin of our Delta regional jet at 10,000 feet, I could see the lighted Olympic rings adorning the side of a nearby range of mountains. My heart would have allowed me to jump for joy, had it not been for the warning issued by the Captain of the flight a few short minutes earlier.
Out of fear of future terrorist acts directed at the Olympics and our guests from around the world, the airline industry and its diligent marshals were very intentional in sharing a warning to us about 20 miles out from touchdown: “Keep your seat; seriously. We mean it. It’s not that we are being difficult or unfriendly but that’s just how it has to be, folks. If you try to get up, you will be arrested, no questions asked.”
I did just as he said I should, and I bought a souvenir cap on the airport’s concourse just to prove that I did as I was told.
Sometimes, that’s just how things have to be. Life happens, people get sideways with each other, and poor judgement prevails. But, just like the seasons of winter and spring, things change, and life eventually returns to a sense of normal.
That’s why these present Olympics, those past, and hopefully those yet to come, are indeed so special. For a brief two weeks or so, we are captivated. The babel that has plagued our speech and our spirits since that ill fated story from Genesis a few thousand years back and a few generations removed all seems to go away, and the world throws a party for itself. We watch. We hope. We cheer. And, we remember. I know I do.
So, as I adjust the brim on my soft red cotton topper from 2002, why don’t you pull up a chair and enjoy the experience with us for a night or two? Better yet, keep your seat, and enjoy the full experience for all its worth, both this year and its memories as you look back in years to come.
I’ll be joining you, if you don’t mind. It’s a pretty good view from where I sit.
Seriously.