#scob

A lovely Theatre for 300.

Last night I attended “Be Here. Be You!”, a celebratory skating and dancing “fun-raiser” supporting the LGBTQ+ community. It had been a minute since I was on the ice, but I found myself moving and gliding and celebrating with hundreds of skaters and dancers, alongside some superstar Olympians, as diverse and colorful as our lives. At some point, maybe it was after a brief interchange with Olympic pairs skater Randy Gardner, that I found myself thinking about Nana.

Every Sunday growing up, whether we wanted to or not, we spent the day in a row home in Philadelphia, PA with my grandparents and “Nana”, my great-grandmother. To be honest, I used to dread it. It was Sunday and I wanted to go to the pool. I wanted to go ride bikes. I want to go play with friends, but it was not negotiable. Nana, my great grandmother, lived with my grandparents in the basement of the row home that my grandparents converted into a little apartment for her. Nana had almost no formal education. She didn’t talk much. She learned to sew in a sweatshop after arriving in the U.S. as a teenager by escaping the Russian pogroms. I remember she would sit and sew and smile. She smiled all day long. One day, she just simply said, “Would you like to come sit quietly with me?”  I’m not sure I wanted to at the time. I was hoping Poppop would take us for a walk in the city and play Red Light Green Light. But, I did it.  Against my kid instincts, there was a part of me that was drawn to her gentle and peaceful spirit. I sat in her sewing chair, and she placed her hands on my head and said, “Quiet here—” she stood behind me and then she moved her hands down to my chest and said, “—so you can be here.” And then we sat in silence. Together. It was all she said. It was all she ever said.

It wasn’t until she passed that the immensity of her gift to me was understood. She left with me a legacy of deep, intuitive care about people that I feel I have for the people in my life today. She left me with a legacy of quiet strength. I have it because she modeled it for me. Her gift to me was her legacy of kindness and the value of deep stillness.

And I realized, I was witnessing legacy-making right at that moment. I scanned the arena and found Tenley Albright at the boards, 1956 Olympic champion and 1952 Olympic silver medalist, beaming, as she always is, watching her daughter, Elin Schrann, founder of Joy Skate Productions, and brainchild behind the event. Also on the ice were her entire family, her husband and three children, and of course we were skating in the Tenley E. Albright Performance Center!  Certainly, Tenley started a legacy of skating, but that’s not the legacy I’m referring to. Elin, who is passionate about diversity and inclusion, created this event at one of the most well-known skating arenas in the country, honoring LGBTQ+ people, promoting inclusion, spreading joy, showcasing the talent and gifts of all people, and celebrating the freedom to be ourselves.  

Tenley Albright, 1956 Olympic gold medalist, receiving a hug from daughter Elin Schran. Photo Credit: Katie Malone-Smith