(Quinn straightening her hair forthe day)
Saturday was to be a lazy day. We had no real plans, I thought I might meet up with some friends, but that didn’t work out. Quinn and I called around searching for a cheap pedicure, but to no avail. We had breakfast, a few pots of coffee and watched Jodie Foster kick butt in “Flight Plan” when her kid was taken, before heading out for the day. Now that we had Tom’s truck we were good to go. Anywhere we wanted.
(Grandpa Horn is addicted to email)
One of the reasons we brought Quinn with us was to see the Stanford Campus. She is after all going to high school next year and although she may not have her sites set on Stanford, Chris, Lisa, Tom and I thought seeing as many campuses as possible might inspire her to new heights.
So we told her about the tower and the hospital and of course drove around. We went to the union and pointed out the post office, but what caught young Quinnderella’s eye was the line of “Pink” Stanford wear offered at the bookstore. It was cute, I’ll admit, but more than I was willing to spend so Quinn weighed her options and decided to pay the balance. Smart girl. She’s learned young wishing you could go back and purchase that one special item is a bummer. I still think about a knotty pine armoire with notes tucked in it from a soldier during WWII but that was another time. I had money.
Anyway, after my dad spent time emailing at the computer center we head off to the Ford Pavilion to buy our tickets for the college meet at 7:00PM. There was no parking nearby so I pulled over and let Tom out.
“I’m going to go in with you. I think I get a special discount because I’m cripple,” Grandpa Horn smiled.
“Grandpa! It’s a senior discount!” Quinn yelled.
“Oh I thought it was because I was feeble.”
“Grandpa!” Henry joined in trying to discipline my father.
“Kids, I could write a book and call it Crap My Father Says.” My father feigns hard of hearing smiled broadly at this.
When they returned Tom had a handful of admittance wristbands and a program which Henry quickly started thumbing through. “Hey, my name isn’t in here!” Henry said with a twinge of panic.
“What?” I said with a pit in my stomach. “Pea, you’d better go talk to Chari or Howie, I saw her go inside while we were waiting.”
“Who are they?” My dad asked.
“The owners of Victory Gymnastics. Henry is competing for Victory with Coach Ray,” I explained.
Tom left and in a very short time came back grumbling “It doesn’t look good. The meet is full and Henry isn’t registered. I spoke to Howie and I was encouraged and then I spoke to Ray and he didn’t think Henry could get in.”
“Are you kidding? Give me his USAG card. I’m not leaving here until he’s in,” I stated flatly.
“That’s why I love you,” Tom said following me back to the gym.
“Excuse me? Can you point me in the direction of the Meet Director?” I asked calmly and firmly.
“May I help you?” The woman asked nicely.
“I don’t think so. I need the Meet Director,” I said again. I wasn’t going to waste my time going through the chain of command when I knew who the decision maker was.
“Well, I don’t know where he is, but that lady over there registers competitors.” I followed her gaze and marched over.
She smiled warmly as I explained my predicament. I told her how many years Henry had competed. I dropped names. I told her of the mix-up and that we’d flown in for the event and then I said, “and his grandfather flew in from Paris,”A knot was growing in the pit of my stomach.
“And he hasn’t seen him compete since level 4” Tom added in a well synchronized attack. The woman smiled and nodded her understanding.
“I’m sure we can get him in. Follow me.” I would have followed her anywhere. We went behind the scenes and found her big register book. We filled out the necessary paperwork and I wrote the check.
“Just a moment, I have to get final approval from the Meet Director.” I knew it. The Meet Director listened and looked over at us just as Coach Ray walked over to see how it was going.
“Ray?” The Meet Director started, “Is this true, do you coach this Henry?”
“Yes, Henry, he’s my boy. I fly up to Washington every week to coach him” Ray said with a gleam in his eye. “Denise and Tom they’re going to buy me a house and I’ll go up there full time.” Ray might be a strict Chinese in many ways, but his wife and children are Americans – he was bound to soften over time.
Henry was in and I could breathe again. We went back to the car to find Henry in tears he was so worried.
“You’re in buddy boy,” Tom informed him. There was a collective sigh of relief as we told the story. “And Ray really wants you to do your best,” Tom added.
It must have worked because despite many of the Victory boys flying off the pommel, Henry faced his arch nemesis and got a personal best. In fact, he got a personal best on three events and took fourth on floor.
(Henry with Parker his brother Sawyer and Cabryn)
(Cabryn Iverson wears her orange socks for Henry - )
(Henry doing his lever on the rings)
(Stanford handstand contest)
(my sorority sisters Laura and Cynthia Lynn)
(my cousin Paul Haenel in back, my uncle Larry Haenel and Grandpa Horn
(Henry gets 4th on floor)
(Sho Nakamori - almost certainly a future olympian & Henry)
(The Iversons)
After the competition there were margaritas and Henry discovered guacamole. We played “Ticket to Ride”, spent time with our Iverson’s and ate breakfast at Hobees – just like we do every year.
(Denise and my little cousin Paul)
(Henry, Sawyer and Parker enjoy the jacuzzi while Susan and I try to catch up- nakie Cabryn has been edited out so her reputation won't be ruined)
(Henry demonstrates his skill on fantasticcontraption.com)
(Henry and his girl)
