by, Kerry Williams
Life is going by in a blur for me right now. There are too many big things and way too many small things grasping for my attention at all times. But I managed to slow down just enough to soak in some Olympics action over the weekend, and it’s really sticking with me. My family and I decided to watch the men’s snowboard half-pipe final, just because it stood out that it would be Shaun White’s final Olympic appearance. We took in the rounds of first and second runs of all the riders and loved hearing more about the athletes and seeing what they could do. It turned into a study of how four people can live under one roof and experience life in just as many disparate ways. The number one seeded rider was a 23-year-old from Japan who attempted and landed a trick that had never before been performed in the Olympic Games. He executed it perfectly but ended up with a score that put him in second place.
The commentators were aghast. Just at that moment we realized that we needed to leave the house and wouldn’t be able to finish watching to see if the final round of runs would change the outcome. We promised each other that we wouldn’t google what happened so that we could come back to watch it together. Over the course of the day, however, we not only couldn’t stop talking about the situation, we began to drift into different camps about whether we even wanted to find out who eventually won. Emotions were high and the dilemma got complicated. Between the four of us, some felt crushed for the top seeded boarder who was robbed of a higher score, but some were more worried about the athlete sitting in first place who may have to live with the world feeling his victory was undeserved. Some of us were chomping at the bit to get back to the coverage and see what shook out, and some wanted to never find out. Some were cherishing the surprise and suspense, while some were threatening to look up the scores because the tension was too much, and still others were putting ultimatums on whether they would watch the rest of the competition unless they knew the story had a happy ending. It was the kind of stress that made us realize that we have different responses and also helped us appreciate our different perspectives. It was just the right level of stress to bring us together, and what a wonderful feeling that was. In the end, I brokered a solution in which I peeked at the final standing so that I could tell the one who refused to watch without knowing the result that it would be safe, but reminded him that his dad really loves surprises so we agreed that he would play off his change of heart as a reluctant “okay you dragged me into it” moment instead of an acknowledgement that he was secure in the outcome.
In the end, the final runs were so much more than we could have dreamed, with a 16-year-old phenom knocking our collective socks off and bringing us joy with his huge smile, to the moment of retirement for 35-year-old Shaun White who had nothing but gratitude for his time as a snowboarder on the world stage, with not a shred of disappointment for not having gone out on the podium. And justice being set to rights when the Japanese rider completed another perfect run for the score he needed to win Gold. We were laughing, we were crying (some more than others), and everything was right with the world for a few moments. My boys are coming of age during a time when information is overwhelming and untrustworthy, and justice seems elusive, so this feeling of being together for an outcome that made sense will stick with me for a long time to come. It gives me hope for the future to see these athletes striving to reach the next level of greatness and supporting each other in their quest. Can we apply that ideal to rest of the world’s problems? Maybe. But for now seeing one snowboarder get the recognition he deserved is enough to keep me going.