As long as I can remember, I have adored the Olympics, especially the Winter Games. I can name every host back to Squaw Valley (and then I have to look them up). I remember my Mom waking me up in the middle of the night so that I could watch figure skating live from Sapporo, Japan in 1972 (I was 4). I used to draw pictures of the Olympic rings. I proudly sported a 1980 Lake Placid Olympics patch on the arm of my winter ski parka. Even though I was in mortal pain after a horrendously bad torn ACL in 1994 (skiing of course), I was thankful for the timing; I had to take a month off of work to recover from extensive ACL replacement surgery and watched every single hour of the Lillehammer Olympics coverage.
Now that the 2010 Vancouver Games are here, I had hoped I would have a blissful shared experience with my two girls. I imagined us cuddled up on the couch during the day (after school was done) watching speed skating, downhill, cross country and slalom. I could picture letting them stay up late to watch the prime-time figure skating. Certainly my adoration would've been passed onto them, right? NOPE. Mild interest? NONE. Disdain? PERHAPS. Not even figure skating can capture their fancy. Go figure.