Summertime. Even-numbered year. Must be time for the Olympic Games.
I am a huge fan of the Olympic Games. I vividly remember watching my first Games. It was 1984. Los Angeles, California. Mary-Lou Retton. Need I say more? I was so enamoured with gymnastics after watching those Games that I begged my parents to put me into gymnastics. I had Olympic dreams. It didn’t matter to me that I was already 10 years old. Little did I know that those girls I watched on television had been training since they were my daughter’s age now! All I knew is that I had to give it a try.
I stayed in gymnastics for about a year and a half. By the time I was done, I was able to do a cart-wheel on the balance beam. Or maybe it was a somersault? I can’t remember.
Needless to say, since then I have been watching the Olympic Games religiously every single year, um, every 4 years, I mean.
This year, daughter was visiting her grandparents the night the opening ceremonies were on. My father-in-law is British. I knew he’d be watching. I called my daughter and she was raving about “Big Ben” and “Oyyympics” (she can’t say her “L’s” yet). “Mommy, I want to go to Yondon! I want to see Big Ben!”. It was awesome. I could hear that Olympic spirit in her voice. Over the course of the weekend, she watched the swimming and soccer events with her papa. When she came home, I was watching the Games and she sat with me while the girls tumbled on the floor exercise. She started doing somersaults. I asked her if she wanted to try gymnastics. Her answer? A resounding “Yes!”, preceded by several somersaults in a row.
Is 3.5 too young to pass the torch?
I think not.