Though the city was quiet, the TV networks seemed disinterested, and the entire excitement from the Olympics seemed to have waned, you wouldn't have known it if you were there with us at BC Place.
We received a spectator kit upon arrival and immediately donned our white ponchos, which it would turn out, made us a part of 60,000-person Paralympic logo. It was fascinatingly beautiful. A feat of great planning or choreography.
The ceremony itself doused us in humility and inspiration.
A little sister to the Olympic Opening Ceremonies, what it lacked in budget, it made up for in spirit.
Every performer: dancers, singers, violinists, and more were "disabled" in one way, shape, or form. And we didn't even know it. We had to read it in the paper the next day. They were the strongest most talented human beings.
When the athletes wheeled, limped, and walked in, the ceremony ditched pomp and circumstance for fun, excitement, and unity. We stood on our feet as they all marched in. We waved our hands. We did the wave. We Woohooed and Yayed. We stomped our feet. We screamed madly. We high-fived our neighbours. And the athletes went wild. They smiled bigger than their faces, waved generously, and waved their flags with the utmost pride.
When Rick Hansen rolled in, the crowd lost its mind. Screams for the Man in Motion were heartfelt and pure. He took centre stage and gave an inspiring speech and encourage the audience of "able-bodied" people to use the performances of these Paralympic athletes as an opportunity to realize that nothing is impossible. That everything is achievable. And that dreams are meant to be captured, no matter your challenge.
I clapped so hard my hands hurt.
I pumped my fist skyward. Yes!
And then, Lloyd Robertson, showed up on stage and in his familiar baritone said something to the effect of "30 years ago, a young man decided to raise money for cancer research..." and before he could say the name of the "young man" the crowd was on its feet, hollering, gasping, crying (me). He was talking about Terry Fox.
What followed was an emotional tribute to Terry, his life, his mission, his legacy. Then, with a picture of Terry on the stadium floor the Paralympic flame entered the building and 60,000 people collectively held their breath -- and when it was obvious that the torch was being carried by Terry Fox's parents, 60,000 people broke down in tears, clapped, hollered, and brought the place down.
It was the right choice.
It was the right people.
It was the right time to bring Terry home.
And it was one of the single most inspiring moments in my life.
I looked at mIke, tears streaming down my face, a toothy-grin wide on my face, and whispered: "It's his parents. It's his parents." and we clenched hands hard, as if Terry was out brother and these were out parents. And it was a moment of wonder.
The Fox's lit a circle of torches around the cauldron, then lit the torch of a young boy inspired by Terry with dreams of competing in the Paralympic Games one day. And the cauldron lit up. As did the spirits of the audience. And we got up and danced and clapped and smiled.
It was 3 hours of mad inspiration, myth-busting awesomeness, and shocking beauty.
And for CTV not to televise it across the nation was a shame.
Go athletes go!
