I absolutely love the Olympics. There's nothing like watching the world's greatest athletes pushing themselves to perform better than anyone ever has, and possibly ever will.

I could chalk it up to being an intense sports fanatic and competitive soul, but it's more than that. The Olympics transcend sport and geography and time. These events make children of even the fiercest competitors, men and women who have been at it for most of their lives yet crumble and weep in their finest moments — usually taking us with them.

It's a little embarrassing to admit this, but of all the amazing Olympic feats, wins, and records I've witnessed, there's one that will always be special to me.

Well, there's two, though the amazing grit shown by the diminutive yet determined Kerry Strug obviously stands out to anyone swayed by the undeniable will of humanity.

Now, you must consider I had become the father of a baby girl only a year before the 2002 Winter games and my already bleeding heart turned to absolute mush anytime something sweet and adorable and remotely girly would occur. After Maddie came into my life, I began to relate everything to her, how I felt about her, what I wanted for her, how I wanted to raise her. And I'm sure my acutely emotional response to this stunning performance was in great part a soul-wrenching desire to help Maddie have that kind of moment for herself.

And, the games were less than six months after the attacks that left most of us seeking anything remotely beautiful in our fellow man.

I watched the women's figure skating competition — yes, I try to catch nearly everything Olympic —  when 16-year-old Sarah Hughes took the ice in fourth place, clearly figuring to be out of the picture against veteran Michelle Kwan and Russian star Irina Slutskaya.

And that made all the difference.

I, too, didn't expect much from Hughes; the announcers had made her medal-less finish seem fait accompli. But it wasn't long into her routine that I knew I was witnessing something spectacular.

Sarah Hughes skated that night with a stunning beauty possible only in the rarest of moments by those who love their art, live for their moment, and perform with a youthful naiveté unencumbered by pressure and expectation.

"I skated for pure enjoyment," Hughes said later. "That's how I wanted my Olympic moment to be."

As she spun and leapt and danced her lithe frame across the ice, her serenity and grace belied her age — she could have been no more of a woman.

Tears dropped from my cheeks as I became overwhelmed by her singular performance. And as Hughes finished and the Salt Lake City crowd roared in approval for the perfection we all knew we had just seen, I wept like a little girl.