I was 12 when we moved to the United States. Up until then, I’d been a professional American, representing our country as part of my father’s Foreign Service career in Europe and Latin America. With the move stateside, I realized that the role I’d been playing overseas had little to do with fitting into junior high school in the suburbs of Washington DC. I was a stranger in a strange land.
What a relief it was to learn that something called the World Series was happening that fall: finally, an international event for me to sink my teeth into. But, sure enough, I was out of sync yet again: this so-called “world” event involved two teams in a sport uniquely American, baseball. I had a lot to learn.
I thought about the hopeful feeling the idea of a World Series gave me as I watched the Milan-Cortina Winter Olympics. These remarkable and inspiring athletes were collecting medals for their countries, sure, but it was the accomplishments of fearless, dedicated individuals that had me smiling and shaking my head on the couch. They were citizens of the world we all inhabited for two weeks.
The 56-year-old snowboarder in her fifth Olympics. The Italian speed skater earning the first of her gold medals on her thirty-fifth birthday. The Norwegian cross country skier running away from the pack, UPHILL. The chutzpah of American Lindsay Vonn trying for a downhill medal despite a torn ACL. The fact that everyone now knows what an ACL is. That the world has a Quad God who is all too human.
For those two weeks, the world shared in the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat, the drama of bringing the best in human performance to bear on impossible feats on ice and snow. We wondered at the readiness of these men and women to dare to launch themselves onto the ice, into the sky, down the steep slope.
We had a temporary respite from crisis and chaos abroad and at home. For those two weeks, as the television ad says, all Americans were on the same team. But we also marched in lockstep with the Parade of Nations, cheering as Italy, Switzerland, Austria, and Germany showcased their Alpine prowess, as South Korea medaled in the half-pipe, as Haiti and Nigeria hit the slopes and Trinidad and Tobago filled the bobsled.
Still, the real world pushed back. Vice President Vance was booed during the opening ceremonies. President Trump slammed a gold medalist for expressing mixed emotions about representing America in this divisive time. Ukraine showed up against all odds to compete, but its skier was disqualified for incorporating on his helmet the images of team members killed by Russia.
Were we disappointed that the ice dancing team of Chock and Bates lost the gold medal to France by a point? Sure. Did we feel Ilia’s fall from grace for missing a couple four-rotation jumps? Yes. Are we thrilled that the women’s and men’s hockey teams brought home the gold? Of course.
But how marvelous to be global citizens enchanted by the snow-and-ice-capades right through the closing ceremonies of the Milan-Cortina Winter Games.