Not just any day, not just any athlete

On Sunday, April 28, the Special Olympics will once again take place at Princeton University and the organizers are looking for volunteers to help the games run smoothly. I encourage every Princeton student to consider giving a portion of his or her day on April 28 to learn something outside of McCosh's lecture halls and the E-Quad's labs, to learn about life from athletes who face challenges everyday, with or without the competition of the Olympics. The following is an account of my experiences last spring. Please take a minute to read it and think about what you might learn this spring.

Daniel is just like any other athlete. He trains for months prior to competition, he approaches every event with intense determination and he has a strong desire to succeed. What distinguishes Daniel from the common athlete is that every one of his achievements thus far has been the product of overcoming the many obstacles that arise from his developmental disabilities.

Even with the challenges of competing with his disabilities, the joy of just being amongst the other athletes was apparent from the start. Daniel began the day by being chosen as a representative from his team to carry the banner in the opening parade. As he lined up with the other banner-bearers, he turned to me and said perhaps the most telling words of the whole day, "My parents are going to be proud of me." Little did I know then how meaningful those words would be. The excitement before the games began spread contagiously from the athletes to the volunteers to the spectators in the stands. Daniel could not wait to begin competing.

He was scheduled for three events, the first being the long jump. After leaping his farthest, Daniel climbed the awards podium to receive a fourth-place ribbon. He came over towards his parents and myself to show off his first prize of the day. The next event was the softball throw which garnered him another fourth-place ribbon. As he approached his parents with his second ribbon, you could tell something was different than the first time, even though he continued to smile.

As Daniel and I made our way out to the edge of the track to prepare for his last event, the 25-meter dash, he told me that he really wanted to win a medal, not another ribbon. I did not know what to say. He had gone into each event determined to come away with a medal only to walk away with ribbons from his fourth-place finishes. This was when I first became nervous. I could tell how much it meant to him to do well enough to win a medal, but not for his own glory; he thought that in doing so his parents would be proud of him. I tried to explain that his parents were already proud of his accomplishments, but he was determined to win that medal. I was nervous because from my interactions with him earlier in the day I could tell that he probably was not the quickest of competitors, and I feared that another ribbon would be a disappointment.

I left Daniel with the other runners to join his parents in the stands near the finish line. As the official started the race, Daniel's eyes were searching the crowd for the familiar face of his parents and consequently he began the race already a couple steps behind. My heart collapsed in my chest but slowly began to rise up in excitement as Daniel poured out all of his energy as he passed the other runners to win the race by a tenth of a second. A small roar lifted up from the stands as Daniel thrust his arms in the air and ran to his parents full of joy. Pure joy.

As his name was called on the medal stand, Daniel smiled broadly out at the applauding fans and thanked the police officer who placed the gold medal over his head. I found myself fighting back tears as little Daniel, a person I had just met that morning, experienced the happiest moment of his life. His parents were indeed proud, he had won his medal and he had won my heart. As Daniel and his parents began walking out of the stadium, he turned around and ran back to give me a hug. His parting words — "I did it Parker, I did it."

Yes, Daniel, you did. You won your medal, but more importantly you changed my life. I went into the morning thinking I would spend a day outside in the beautiful weather and maybe help a little kid get from event to event. I did not expect the emotional ride that I experienced. Daniel walked away with a medal around his neck, but I walked away with a whole new attitude towards life. As I sat down to record the events of the day, the tears I had been holding back since Daniel's triumph on the track finally broke through.

Thank you, Daniel. Thank you for allowing me to witness what pure joy looks like. Thank you for showing me the real value of athletic competition. Thank you for turning a gorgeous Sunday into a memory I will take with me forever.

If you have any interest in volunteering, or even just hearing more about the Special Olympics, email lldealy@princeton.edu or ctaylor@princeton.edu. I look forward to seeing you out there come April 28. Parker Altman is a Politics major from Belleglade, Fl. He can be reached at pcaltman@princeton.edu.