In the beginning, I didn’t even realize they had been watching, but I guess hanging with dad was enough to get them started. Week one found them totally engrossed in the downhill skiing. I had to admit that it was pretty unbelievable how fast those athletes flew down the mountain (even if I did have trouble converting the kilometers to miles per hour).
But watching the downhill events couldn’t compare in the minds of our boys to setting their eyes on those speed skaters. Speed. They love speed. And speed plus lots of crazy flips-and quite a few crashes-made the snowboarding events seem pretty cool too. Of course regardless of the event, the question that kept coming from both boys was simple: “Did he win a gold?”
I was amused that two tough guys like ours could be so consumed with the gnarly extremes of the half pipe and the amazing flips and twists and turns of the aerial skiers, but also find themselves totally locked-in when the ice skaters, in their feathers and sequins started jumping and floating around the rink. There is little that compares to watching two rough and tumble little boys make their mark on the ice skating world from the middle of their living room carpet. Cooper’s pretty graceful, even if his routines are done in Yankee pinstripes.
Our next big event was curling. With the rules of this sport, I was no help at all, but it didn’t seem to matter to Coop. He decided he was going to create his own “curling rink” on which he and Brisco would compete for the gold. I was anxious to see just how he planned on doing this in a living room full of carpet.
After he got started, I could see he was wasn’t thinking so much about his playing surface as he was about his equipment when I saw him grab a massively oversized, 16-inch softball we happened to have lying around and a broom from behind the washer.
I think he would have made a grand attempt at pushing that “rock” down the “ice” if he had been able to find a second broom for Brisco. But out of frustration-and the fact that I caught him trying to use the wet broom from the backyard-he decided on a change of venue. Maybe we can get a gold playing hockey?
His creative juices really got going, and before I had a chance to look up, he had the couches moved against the walls in the den, two laundry baskets tipped on their sides at opposite ends of the room, and two Star Wars lightsabers drawn and ready to knock that puck-which looked strangely similar to a Nerf basketball-into the goal. And of course Brisco was following right along beside him chanting, “USA! USA!” It seems these boys have been bitten.
I had no idea when the Olympics started two weeks ago it would have such an impact on our children. And still, after watching it with them over the course of 14 days and 86 different events, I might not have truly understood its influence if I hadn’t found the proof: Pictures. Lots of pictures-of two sweaty kids holding an old summer league trophy with a couple of gold medals hanging around their necks.
Maybe for some, the Olympics is about dreams and goals and countries and accomplishments; about the thrill of seeing someone’s life-work culminate into a once in a lifetime performance; about individuals and teams coming together to compete for self and honor and national pride. Maybe this is true, for some. But at our house? It’s quite simply, all about the gold.
And that’s All in a day’s work!
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