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.