Light Refreshments Served

On August 7th, the day before the Olympic Opening Ceremonies, a friend of mine was talking about Michael Phelps.  “Who’s Michael Phelps?” I asked.  For a second I wondered if had accidentally said, “Do you always dress like that?” for the way her eyes bugged out at me, but yes, I had asked the right question and no, I didn’t know who he was.  Trust me, NOW I KNOW.  I’ve been cheering him on all week with the rest of the country and when he beat out Mr. Serbia in the 100-meter butterfly I high-fived my family all around because holy crap that was close.  I wish it had been the same for Dara Torres so that we could talk about her gold medal instead of how ancient she is at the ripe age of 41, but it was not to be.  I still think she rocks. 

But this morning the Today Show was running out of ways to interview Michael Phelps so they did a little piece about iPods and what kind of music the athletes are listening to.  Their resident expert reported that music changes body chemistry, and undoubtedly plays a part in performance.  Then they went around asking various athletes what songs were most motivating to them. 

Mary Wineberg, a 400 meter runner for the USA cited Beyonce.  Heinrich Barnes from South Africa enjoys himself some Eminem.  Another USA shot put athlete pumps up to Garth Brooks’ The Dance and Dwight Thomas from Jamaica gets fired up listening to (Wait a second, did she say “Garth Brooks”?  You’re getting ready to throw a ten pound ball across a football field and you’re looking to a slow country song about getting dumped by a girlfriend to fire you up?  No wonder you lost.) some lame rap artist Lil’ Wayne.  Here’s how much I know about Lil’ Wayne.  When they said his name on the TV I thought they said “Will Wayne”, so I googled it and learned my mistake.  And just a sidenote – I think a rap artist who is trying to be taken seriously loses credibility by putting Lil’ in front of his name.  Wait, did I just say “rap artist” and “credibility” in the same sentence?  My bad.  Anyway, when they got to Michael Phelps it turns out that he and Mr. Jamaica boy love the same music.  Could it be that Lil’ Wayne helped Phelps capture those precious 8 gold medals?  And if so, don’t you think he should change his name to Big Ol’ Wayne The Gold Medal Helper? 

I do.

This always happens to me. I think I’ll just watch my “favorites” on the Olympics, and then I get sucked in and I end up in a stupor in front of the TV because, my gosh, I don’t want to miss synchronized diving, and then Michael Phelps is going to be making his daily appearance for yet another record-smashing gold medal, and the Chinese gymnasts are head-to-head with the Americans . . .
The main problem (besides the obvious one that this has now slurped up my whole home life for nearly a week) is that it just goes way too late. I’ve been staying up past 11:00 every night, and I’m too old to do that anymore. So I cheer sleepily when the race ends and then stagger off to bed, annoyed at having sat through so many commercials to get to the less-than-two-minutes of drama.
But there’s one commercial I’m glad I saw, an image that will stay with me for a long, long time. It shows historic footage of an Olympic runner who has obviously been injured in some way, being supported across the finish line by an older man. The narrative goes something like: “So-and-so didn’t finish first in his race. He didn’t finish second, or third. But he - and his father - did finish.”
It moved me because of his determination to just get over that line, no matter the condition he was in. I was also moved by the notion that it’s not always the medal winners who score the greatest victories. But I think what moved me the most was the fact that when he just couldn’t do it on his own, his father was there to help him through.
It’s what I hope for as a parent.
It’s what I long for as a child of Heavenly Father.

They say Wheaties is the “Breakfast of Champions.” Someday one of my friend’s kids might make the cover. She has been in town this week for an ice skating competition that her daughter is participating in, and they also have a son who is very gifted in gymnastics. I’ve heard bits and pieces of what it’s like to adhere to the regimented and challenging schedules of highly competitive sports. Finding the right coach for your child, then figuring out how to make the one hour/one way trip three times a week to get there, traveling to different states to compete, balancing homework, friends and other family members etc. Every time we talk about it I think, “Man, I hope my kids weren’t destined for greatness because if so, they got the wrong mom.”

Dominique Dawes has been on a Wheaties box. A couple of weeks ago I was watching FitTV (watching people exercise – it’s the new yoga) when I came upon an interview with her. She was an Olympic Gold medalist from the 1996 Games in Atlanta for the US Women’s Gymnastics team. (Keep in mind that when it comes to gymnastics, being a “woman” means you may or may not have your driver’s license and My Little Ponies are scarcely a thing of the past.) At one point in the interview Dominique was detailing a particular incident with her dad that occurred during one of her training sessions. At the time she was living with her coach, and in the middle of a practice she totally broke down, walked out, and called her dad to lament that she had had it and wanted to come home. Her dad told her to get back in the gym and get to work, and Dominique said it was exactly what she needed to hear. Now, this is the part where my kids would be screwed because I believe had it been me on the other end of that phone I would have said, “Of course honey, if you’re sure that’s what you want. After all, you are only 13 and should probably be LIVING WITH YOUR FLESH AND BLOOD.” But maybe that’s just me.

Tiger Woods has also been on a Wheaties box, and for good reason. Take last week. Or really, take about every other week when he clinches some kind of victory on the PGA Tour. Last week it was a highly charged US Open that had Tiger putting on the 18^th to impose a tie between him and Rocco Mediate, the current leader. He made it, forcing a full round of 18 holes the next day as a playoff. They tied AGAIN, and had to go to sudden death, playing one hole at a time until one player went ahead of the other. Tiger pulled it out, sending a disappointed but gracious Mediate into 2^nd place. Everyone knew before the tournament started that Tiger had just endured knee surgery, and had gone against his doctor’s recommendation to participate on this occasion. Woods told his doctor that he was going to play in the US Open, and that he was going to win. It wasn’t discovered until after the end of the tournament that he had been playing those five days of golf on a torn ACL and two stress fractures.

Mediate later differentiated between normal golfers and Tiger Woods, clarifying that Tiger “is not normal,” that his mental focus is incomparable, unprecedented, and provides a distinct advantage. And just who do you think they credit? His father. During the US Open they ran this commercial of Tiger and his dad golfing together. In it they talk about how his dad would try to distract him when they played together so as to “beef up” his mental game. Again, this is where I say my kids are screwed because I AM NOT THAT PARENT. I’m not the kind who would try and mess with them in the name of making them stronger, I’m not the kind to drive them an hour each way to practice three times a week, and I’m definitely not the kind to let them live with their coach instead of their family.

I’m the kind who pulled my 3-year-old out of preschool because she didn’t like her teachers and repeatedly complained about a boy named Carlos who appeared to be ruining her life. I thought preschool was supposed to be fun, so when it wasn’t, we bailed. Am I teaching her to quit? Two years ago my son expressed an interest in playing basketball – I’m the kind of parent who absolutely promised that I would definitely sign him up for that sometime before his 12^th birthday. He’s played baseball for two years, isn’t that enough?

So what do you think, am I doing it wrong? I’m not even sure if I want you to answer that.  But I’ve wondered, what if Drew is a world class ski jumper but we haven’t let him spend enough time dangling from steep cliffs in the mountains in the winter? What if Samantha was destined for greatness in the shot-put and I haven’t been feeding her enough protein shakes? I mean, how did Elizabeth Smart know she was good at the harp if her parents didn’t introduce her to it? Steve Young’s dad said he could tell his son was a gifted athlete when he was 2 years old and dribbling a basketball. Well okay, that one worked out. But then there are the parents of the two year old who picks up one dark crayon and one light crayon, and after they draw a few lines the parent declares, “Did you SEE that? She totally knows about chiaroscuro! She’s going to be an artist!”

I don’t know, it’s all very confusing to me. I guess what I’m saying is that I need a new cereal. One that my kids can aspire to. How about “Rice Krispies: The Breakfast of Mediocrity?” That has a nice ring to it, no?