it was an unseasonably warm spring day, the year 1996. I walked from my house, 5, maybe 10 minutes, over to the main road where the usual parade of cars was stopped for once, instead replaced by groups of friends, family, strangers, milling about in anticipation for a moment that, even for a small town like this one, does not come too often. By no means could this be considered a crowd or a throng, but still, seeing so many people out and about on this usually unremarkable piece of suburbia gave the whole thing a certain antiquated charm. This was the sort of scene you see in those Rockefeller paintings, or in the Dreyer's ice cream commercials.
After about half an hour of leisurely waiting, the first sign came upon us: the TV news choppers, not a frequent sight in this tranquil village, were buzzing not too far, and with them we started to hear a joyful cheer. Kids stopped playing along the sea docks, and strained their eyes up the road. By now the sides of the road were much more full, just like on the 4th of July parade with the fire trucks and parade of vintage cars. As the cheer got closer, the excitement spread, and enthusiastic shouts of "I See it!" could be heard. Only a few minutes more and there it was: the Olympic torch, on its way to Atlanta. Not at all imposing, but beautifully symbolic all the same. And just a few moments later, it was gone from our view, though the general good mood lasted long after. Just one moment in one small town, but hopefully there were many others like it that year, and for many more to come.
