I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. His skin was the color of summer and youth, beautiful and smooth and the stuff of a 1970-something Coppertone ad, minus a black Boykin Spaniel. This wasn’t his first day at the pool.
He couldn’t have been much older than three. His head barely reached the top of the diving board. To reach the platform he had to crawl up the stairs. This one whose smile was permanent fixture already understood joie de vivre.
Fearless and free and fueled by adrenaline, he went off the board a dozen times. Increasing courage quickened his pace.
He shifted the aim of a spotlight he wasn’t even aware existed. “Hey, watch my Dad!” he called out to the others when his father mounted the stairs. His face beamed awaiting the show, his eyes twinkling love, admiration, and joy.
His dad did a one and a half gainer with marginal success.
He awarded his approval in laughter and applause, and gleefully asked everyone in earshot, “Did you see my Dad?!”
Olympic gold doesn’t come close.