Bliss, Remembered Page 34
by Frank Deford
“No, no I don’t.”
Well, what I thought was that this was finally my Olympics, too. My Tokyo Olympics of 1940 had finally arrived in Los Angeles.
And your father reached over and took my hand, and he squeezed it, and then he went back to being himself again. He only gave himself that one moment to be what he had been, to remember what he had dreamed that summer when we fell in love the minute we met, not having the foggiest what lay just around the corner.
Or ever after, for that matter.
