Like most Americans we are intently focused on the Olympic games. I don't know if I am just sappy but I can't get through a victory without crying. Especially when the camera finds mom and dad in the audience. There we were watching last night as those amazing little gymnasts performed so amazingly well and before I knew it I was in a puddle of tears as they showed those mothers twisting and turning and jumping and crying as they reacted to their kids' performances.
I grew up, probably like you, dreaming that maybe one day I could be an athlete at the Olympics. As that dream drifted into the sunset with age, I again dreamed, this time that one of my kids could achieve such success. Apparently not going to happen as my kids feel abused if they have to walk home from school two miles! All in all, not looking good for the Reynolds to become amazing athletes. (I might still be holding out hope for Taylor with basketball and Chance for ... something). But as I cried with those parents last night I was reminded of dance recitals and school programs that have brought me to tears annually. I can't help but be at one of my children's performances without getting emotional. Not because they are amazing, truthfully, but because they are my kids.
Each deliberate parent, no matter what their child's skill level, becomes the cheerleader, the believer and the admirer. Every time we are put into a position to actually sit, (hold still in one place) and focus on our children, how could we help but be misty-eyed? These are our families' Olympic moments, our turn to reflect on how far we have come with each child, whether it be emotionally, physically or socially. We think about all that they have learned and all that we have learned from them.
So although I'm sure I have many tears ahead as the Olympics play out this Summer, I am even more sure that I could not be prouder than an Olympic parent with each event that my children compete in through this Olympiad of life.
