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I wrote a lot of poetry when I was (much) younger. The sadder I felt, the better my poetry was. So you might say that happiness eroded my ability to rhyme.

The most recent poem I wrote was nearly three years ago to honor my grand-dog Scooter who had just died, but that was written for and shared with a private audience of two.

Prior to that, I penned my last poem nearly 40 years ago about something that happened the afternoon of Saturday, February 23, 1980.

Holy iambic pentameter, Batman! What happened to etch that date so firmly in this brain?!

In 1980 the man I was falling in love with had invited me to historic Williamsburg, Virginia for a weekend trip. We arrived on Friday, February 22, around 5 pm. We checked in just in time to watch a hockey game on television. Talk about romantic! Not.

But it was patriotic.

That winter Olympic semi-final hockey game pitted a very young (average age of 22) group of American college hockey players against the Soviet team which was comprised of professional hockey players. And oh, by the way, the Soviets were the four-time defending gold-medal-winning hockey team.

The American team was the underdog with a capital U.

As the Americans defeated the Soviets by a score of 4-3 (a link to the final minute of the game is included below), announcer Al Michaels screamed out, “Do you believe in miracles? YES!!”

And so the story of this game came to be called The Miracle on Ice. That victory took the Americans to the final where they defeated Finland to win the gold medal.

Well, who doesn’t enjoy an underdog’s improbable victory?

And who could resist using that game as a permanent mental marker of a date she didn’t want to forget?

The next afternoon, the man-who-would-be-husband and I strolled through a chilly park looking for a bench in the sun to sit for a while and talk about our possible future together. But the park benches were all shrouded in shade or already taken. About to give up, we rounded a corner, and there it was—the last bench in the sun.

Finding that bench was a symbol to me that it was all going to work out. So my days of writing sad poetry ended with this poem of hopeful expectations.

The Last Bench in the Sun

by Norma Thatcher

I was floundering when you came along.

I was hurt and shaken and not at all sure who I was or

what it was that I wanted.

And with a quiet warmth you took me in and helped

me realize that I was still who I had always been inside,

and that growth and change wouldn’t alter that.

And you loved me without qualification—

You accepted me as I am.

I’m not sure when it was that I realized I loved you.

I think it was as we walked that chilly day in Williamsburg,

warmed by our feelings and the intermittent sunshine.

And of all the benches left in the park,

They were all in the shade except one.

The last bench in the sun—looking for all the world

like it had been reserved just for us.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Final minute of the Miracle on Ice Olympic game 1980