The parallels between the Olympic trials and my local playground

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This summer has been a showcase of Minnesota in all her glory. We hosted the U.S. Olympic gymnastics trials and cheered our hearts out watching our prize gymnast, Suni Lee, make the Target Center her own personal playground. Landing a spot back on the U.S. team was only made sweeter by the trials and tribulations Lee has overcome to get back to this point.

Now I’m about the farthest you can get from an Olympic gymnast, so I can’t say that I can relate to Lee’s moment. That being said, I was recently moved by watching another little hero overcome her own trials and tribulations at her local playground.

The moment was a few weeks ago when my two little girls were building a sand castle in the middle of the park. I was interrupted by a work call and sat down on the curb a short distance away from the girls to answer it. I quickly wrapped up my call and returned my attention to the kids.

“You’re little.”

I look up from my phone and see a Big Kid screaming from the top of the playground monkey bars at my daughter.

“This will be interesting,” I think as I see my eldest look up at her heckler.

“I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to HER,” says Big Kid, still shouting his criticism safe from high atop the monkey bars as he turns his attention to my youngest daughter.

“YOU’RE LITTLE!”

This kid clearly has no idea that I’m her dad as I remain seated, watching this play out from the curb. As a dad, I’ll tell you, 99.9% of the cells in my body wanted to stand up and tell that kid not to mess with my girls. But something made me wait. Let’s see how this plays out.

I see a hint of fear in her eyes as she looks back at me, but I know deep in her heart, she is strong and fierce.

“Who’s big and strong?” I mouth to her, hoping she recalls the countless times I’ve asked her this before.

“I am, daddy,” she whispers.

As she turns around, Big Kid has jumped off the monkey bars and is towering over my 4-year-old.

“YOU’RE LITTLE!” he says as he holds his hand out from the top of his head, emphasizing the 6 inches of height he has on her.

Her blue faded Nikes arch as she extends to her tip toes, stretching out every bit of her 3-foot-4 frame to match this guy. She tries valiantly, but she just can’t do it. She’s still shorter than Big Kid. She turns back to me, as I remain seated on the curb. I watch her strength turn to apprehension, then to doubt, and then again to fear.

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We’ve all seen this fear before. Our mind reflects on the dangers of the past and ponders the perils of the future. It takes courage and strength to overcome that fear and there is a pivotal moment when the scale tips over to whichever sentiment weighs the heaviest. Sometimes fear. Sometimes strength.

I saw that same look in Suni Lee’s eyes as she stood awaiting her first vault of the trials. While waiting her turn, she watched her best friend Kayla DiCello fall and tear her Achilles tendon. Everything she worked for, gone in a moment. I watched as Lee’s eyes filled with apprehension, doubt — maybe even fear? I then watched her stretch her body tall, wipe away her tears, recall her endless hours of training and run with absolutely no fear toward the apparatus that tore her friend’s dreams away. Strength over fear.

I watched it happen over and over again that weekend. I watched a 16-year-old stand tall and earn a spot among the greats to represent Team USA. I watched a young Sri Lankan American bravely choreograph her heritage into her floor routine, which she nailed on the national stage. I watched the greatest of all time, Simone Biles, step up and defeat perhaps the greatest fear of all for a gymnast — the dreaded “twisties.” Sometimes the shortest person in the arena is the most powerful.

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My daughter looks back at me from the playground. We lock eyes and I nod my head to her, remaining anonymous, hoping to convey, “I trust you and you got this.”

She looks back at Big Kid and I watch as the moment I was hoping for happens in real time. I watch her body language change as the strength in her heart vanquishes the fear from her eyes.

“I’M BIG AND STRONG!” she says as she stamps her foot down in the sand. Strength over fear.

“Wanna fight?” says Big Kid.

If you’re wondering when that moment is to intervene as a parent, it’s now.

“Alright buddy, we gotta go,” I tell Big Kid as I stand up, watching him realize in real time that there will always be someone bigger and stronger. As I stood, I, too, realized something.

Never underestimate the strength in a little girl’s heart.

Asitha Jayawardena lives in Minneapolis.