The day was glorious, it could've been mid-summer, teasing us gently knowing we had conformity tomorrow. With bacon baguettes and hot coffee we found good seats facing the London skyline. Me, ecstatic to be back at Greenwich, the girls putting a brave face on another 3 hours of dressage, and him photographing his works building - I would too to be fair, if I worked in such an almighty place.
Everything was the same as the Olympics. The volunteers enthusiasm was infectious, the arena magnificent, the efficiency impeccable, the food stands serving the same food, maybe fewer people in the stadium which was more than made up for in cheers and mexican waves. The difference was in the athletes and this is what I explained to the children. I wanted them to understand and they retorted in the way children do.
"When's the one with no legs coming on Mummy?" asked P innocently.
"What's wrong with that rider Mummy?" queried A.
So I explained and they accepted. Just like that. Just as they have asked questions of others this holiday. Yes, some people are short, some people are a different colour, some people are in a wheelchair, some people are poor and are hungry and some people are disabled.
James Dwyer riding Orlando for Ireland
Soon enough they stopped asking about the riders and began commenting on the horses, the music, how long it was until the British rider and when they could have something else to eat.
Just as children do.
No comments:
Post a Comment