my love letter to the olympics
A father stands hillside, tears streaming down his face as he talks about his daughter—mogul skier Maïa Schwinghammer—about to compete in her qualifying run. I don't know this man. I don't know his daughter. But I am bawling.
This is what the Olympics does to me.
Summer. Winter. Whatever sport. It does not matter. I am here for it all.
For 16 days every two years, you can find me glued to the screen, watching athletes perform at the pinnacle of human capability. What draws me in isn't just the athleticism, though it's astonishing, it's the stories behind every competitor. The years of 4 AM wake-ups. The injuries overcome. The sacrifices made by entire families to get one person to this moment.
I love watching the families, friends and teams there cheering on the athletes. I think about what it must feel like to have a child make it to this level of competition. I think about what these parents and families invested, sacrificed to get their children to this stage.
That's why Maïa Schwinghammer's father got me. His raw emotion, his unguarded pride, it wasn't just about a father and daughter. It was about every parent who has driven to early morning practices, who has stretched budgets to pay for coaching, who has watched their child pursue an impossible dream and somehow make it real.
I've been actively working to impart my love of the Olympics on my children. Every morning during the games, I turn on the television so we can see what's happening in Italy. During the summer 2024 Olympics, we happened to be on holidays at the cottage. Thankfully we had just gotten internet installed, and we spent our days moving between the outdoors and the living room, with my kids scheduling the events we had to watch.
Seeing them discover the games through fresh eyes reminded me what I love most about the Olympics: sport is of the things that brings us together.
There's something profound about the collective experience of cheering for Team Canada. For two weeks, differences fall away. We're all gathered around screens, in living rooms, in bars, at work on our phones, united in hope for people wearing the maple leaf. You see it everywhere: the Facebook posts, the texts between friends, the strangers high-fiving in coffee shops when Canada wins a medal.
At a time when the world feels increasingly fractured and political discourse feels impossibly polarized, the Olympics offer something rare: unity. Not manufactured or forced, but organic and joyful. We come together as a country, all cheering for the same thing.
I know that Canada is far from perfect. We have much to reckon with in our history and work to do in our present. But when I watch the Olympics, when I see athletes from every background, every community, every corner of this vast country coming together under one flag, I'm reminded of what we can be at our best.
Canada, to me, represents possibility. We're a country built on the premise that people from everywhere can build something together. When I look at our Olympic athletes, I see the Canada I want my children to grow up in: one where hard work and talent matter more than where you came from, where we celebrate excellence in all its forms, where we lift each other up.
In a world that often feels dark and divided, the Olympics remind me that there's still room for joy, for unity, for shared pride in human achievement.
That's the power of sport. That's the magic of the Olympics. That's why I'll never miss a moment.
Go Canada.
