I Adore the Olympics

There are times in my life when I am stoic. There are times when I am entirely in control of my emotions. There are times when you couldn't pay me to cry.

And then there are the Olympics.

I have to say, I wasn't expecting much in the way of spectacle after the Beijing Games. I was like Wesley Snipes (not the Wesley Snipes) on 30 Rock when he was expressing concern to Liz Lemon about London as a host. "We're not prepared!" he exclaimed. "Did you see the Beijing Opening Ceremony? We don't have control of our people like that!" It's true--I don't think it's possible to create a more technically and visually precise production than the opening of the past Summer Games. But if Beijing was the tight, regimented production, London was the plucky little sibling with a whole lotta heart...and a really attractive accent.

I have been enchanted by the Olympics my entire life. When I was younger my mom would let me stay up late on school nights so I could watch my favorite Olympian of all time, American figure skater Michelle Kwan, compete in the long program. Backstage before my high school graduation, my friend Jessica and I attempted to hum "Pomp and Circumstance" but could remember only the Olympic theme song, to which we hummed our little hearts out.

To me, there are few displays of human accomplishment and camaraderie more breathtaking than Opening Ceremonies. Yes, they're so long that when they finally end it's practically time to extinguish the cauldron. Yes, they always have at least one excruciating moment whose corniness makes you want to slap your forehead in anguish. But when those countries start their march into the stadium there is nothing in the world that can touch them. It's a night of such profound national pride, such celebration of human potential and accomplishment, that you'd have to be made of stone to not be moved.

Kenneth Branagh for King of the Universe

If you were to chart my tearshed like rainfall it would be a more or less horizontal line except for five hours every two years that shot off the chart. That's the Opening Ceremony, and last night was no different. I can't stress to you enough how easily I can cry. I cry while listening to Disney songs. I cry if I'm trying to relocate a ladybug outside and accidentally injure it. Last week I cried during the Tour de France. It should come as no surprise, then, that I'm still dabbing my eyes after the deaf children sang and signed the British national anthem (after which I ran into the kitchen where my mom was watching it and, sniffing like a fool, declared "Damn those deaf kids!"). I cried when Kenneth Branagh recited a short soliloquy from The Tempest. (Kenneth Branagh is like chocolate syrup to me: everything is better with it.) I cried when the children's choir from Northern Ireland sang "Danny Boy," which was the song performed by members of my high school's faculty during the memorial service for my beloved English teacher Prudence Hockley. I cried when Saudi Arabia entered the stadium with its two female athletes, marking the first time in history that women have been allowed to compete for that nation. These are the first Games in which each of the 205 countries competing have sent women athletes and, for the U.S., the first time female competitors have outnumbered men.

Deaf children singing. I'm toast.

My mom and I also put on a stunning display during yesterday evening's ceremony, but ours was of global knowledge. Highlights included when I decided I wanted to learn all the countries and their capitals and then proceeded to draw a blank on every country beginning with an H. My mom and I then promptly forgot every nation starting with I except for Ionia which is, in fact, not a country. Who knew?

My dad, clearly exhausted, had wanted to stay up to hear Paul McCartney sing. He only went to bed when we reminded him that thanks to the time difference he could have YouTubed the performance five hours before. When my mom went to sleep she told me to tell her about anything exciting that happened. Considering it was halfway through the Parade of Nations, I asked what kind of excitement she was expecting. "Oh, I don't know," she answered. "When the U.S. shows up?"

The most moving moment of the night for me came, as it often does, with the lighting of the cauldron. As each nation made its entrance into the stadium it brought with it a metal petal which was then attached to one of over 200 pipes extending from the center of the arena. Seven of the petals were ignited by the torch bearers and within moments a chain reaction had lit a fire in each petal. Once they were all lit, they slowly rose up from the ground to form a single cauldron. Two hundred five nations becoming one in the spirit of the Summer Games. It was one of the most touching, beautiful moments I have ever witnessed. When my mom asked me this morning if I'd stayed up to watch the rest of the ceremony, I told her about the rising petals. "I cried so hard!" I said. Her response: "Of course you did."

Please, no one get married, die, or award me the Nobel Peace Prize in the next week or so. I need to replenish my tear supply.