Olympic Spirit

For the first time since the 1996 Olympics, I've been glued to the coverage. I have my friend Eddie to thank for that, as I hadn't watched a moment of it until he brought me into his addiction. But watching the sports reminded me of my Olympic memories.

In 1995, my parents got on board to help out individuals trying out for the US Olympic sailing team. We were flat broke; my parents had invested all their savings to start a dream life on Tybee. They gave up lucrative careers to build something for themselves and to give me a better life. We had no heat, no air conditioning, and no hot water, but we had hospitality, dock space, and plenty of room for camping out. My dad heard about the sacrifices so many of these athletes were making. One couple had sold their home and moved into an RV to help their son with costs for training and tryouts. So my dad put out an offer that any US athlete trying out or making it to the Olympics could stay with us for free. Being the small community we are here at the waterfront village, the shrimpers at our dock provided shrimp and two others had low country boil waiting on the dock each night the teams came back from practices and trials. I didn't realize back then just how much these athletes loved what they were doing. I saw them off every morning and greeted them every evening. Whether they had a good day or a bad day, they were always just thankful to be out there.

When the Olympics finally came around in 1996, we hosted two of the US teams, the entire Italian (FIV) team and its president and the Cayman Islands team which was being coached by one of the US teams we hosted during the 1995 trials. Once again, we were having nightly low country boils and talking about their days' work. I was treated to several trips to the Olympic Village downtown. I can't say anything has ever come quite close to that experience, being surrounded by the greatest athletes from around the world. Even though I only played soccer and had never spent much time on sailboats, I was in awe each time I got to go down there. I even got front seats aboard the coach boat for the Caymans team to watch the actual Olympic races.

This past Tuesday, I had the honor of attending a breakfast celebrating former Olympic athletes now living in Savannah. To listen to their stories, especially for the athletes from Mali and the Sudan, you could never quite comprehend the level of commitment and love for the sport. I played soccer up through my freshman year of college, but I did it for fun. I had no addiction to the sport, I just enjoyed playing. But these athletes made huge sacrifices, often going against the odds. If I only had an ounce of their dedication and passion, I wonder what I could really do.

I spent last night hanging out with my dad watching the Olympics at the Legion on Tybee. My mom is out of town for a family funeral, and it is the first time she's left my dad alone in 14 years, so I came to spend some time with him. My dad rarely talks, but as we were watching the Olympics last night, he started telling stories from our parts in 1995 and 1996. He glowed with pride to be able to tell others about how much support he was able to give to teams that left their homes and had hardly anyone here cheering them on. I never quite knew just how much that meant to him until he was sharing it all with me last night. He even still keeps the pennants all the teams signed up on our office walls. But what really stunned me last night was how much the Olympics actually bonded us. We were the ones here every morning to wish them luck and we were the ones here every evening to welcome them home. And last night, we were here once again, together, cheering on our favorite teams.