When my first born was a wee pup, crawling all over me as I watched Nadia Comaneci score perfect 10s in the Montreal Summer Olympics.. the onscreen drama must have seeped over into my psyche which I promptly conveyed to my baby via osmosis. Or something like that. He’s been an Olympics lover ever since. He says one of his fondest childhood memories was me dragging him and his sister out of bed to watch the spectacular televised closing ceremonies at the 1984 Los Angeles event.
We speak of the Olympics often. We talk about the athletes, he and I. We muse on performances past, and wonder about future achievements. During each Olympics, we have one “all-nighter”.. an evening for staying up ridiculously late and eating large amounts of naughty food.. all while watching the athletic competition unfold. Of course, we toss out phrases like, “I could do that, but I don’t wanna.”
Last summer, the boy and I, not to mention other family members.. enjoyed our fete while watching Michael Phelps win that spectacular race in a gazillionth of a second. It was a crowning moment in the games made even more extraordinary by all of us experiencing it together.
A few months ago I was missing my boy as mommies sometimes do–even, maybe especially, as they get older. He’s a husband and father.. and well, he’s actively involved in everything inherent in that busy life. I asked him for a favor. I asked if some time, whenever he and his family could manage it, if he could come and spend the day with me. Just him. Not that I don’t adore his wife and babies—-I do. But, I needed some boy time. Just me and him.
He called a few weeks ago saying that he was working on it and would let me know. That was good enough for me.
Last Saturday, on a whim, the boy and his family came to visit. These kinds of visits bring palpable pleasure.
During casual conversation, he mentioned he’d like to plan our one-on-one day.. but that it wouldn’t happen until February 2010. Well.. he’s got stuff going on.. I’ll take it, I thought.
Then, he told me the rest of it. I needed to provide the transportation, he said.. and he’d supply the tickets. Tickets? What?
Turns out our mommy-son get-together will be to an Olympic hockey game at the Vancouver 2010 Winter Olympic Games. Just the two of us.
The revelation dawned.. and I’ll admit my emotions grabbed me by the throat. Not only did he pencil in a day for me.. he decided to make it something once-in-a-lifetime special.
He warned: “Now, of course, we can’t depend on it being anything spectacular.. It probably won’t be another “Miracle On Ice” moment.”
My response? Doesn’t matter if it’s Czechoslovakia vs. Tasmania. How could it not be spectacular? It’s the Olympic Games.
We’ll drive or catch a shuttle over the border.. we’ll employ air horns and foam fingers.. we’ll have a real, live, Olympic adventure together. No words illustrate this joy, yet I’ve tried to use them.. and probably not very well.
Meanwhile, I wait for February 2010 and ponder the gift.. and what it will mean for us—for me and my boy.