BEIJING -- By now, if you've paid attention at all, you will be up to speed on the story of Lopez Lomong, United States Olympic 1,500-meter runner and opening-ceremony flag-bearer.
You have read the stories, have seen him march, white tam in place and smile wide as he and the horde of blue blazers behind him waved to George Bush and George waved back. You heard NBC tell you why he was there.
His is a story like few others, a confluence of happenstance and significance seldom seen before in the Olympic movement. For him, at age 23, it is both simple and amazing.
Or, as he says in his quaint English: "It is a dream makes true, right here."
For the rest of us, who have generally eaten well, felt safe and experienced total hopelessness only in sad movies, Lomong is a gift. He lights up the room again and puts a Band-Aid on the cynicism.
If you are a writer, you want to tell his story, even if dozens have preceded you. You want to tell it better, to grip the reader just in case your predecessors haven't.
And then you sit in the audience on the morning of the opening ceremony and realize you need do nothing more than listen and take notes, because Lomong is telling it to you, for you, and better than ever before.
He is one of the "Lost Boys of Sudan," one of a group of more than 3,000 who was taken from his home as a child in the midst of a war between guerrilla factions looking to train young males as soldiers. He escaped to Kenya, where he was put into a refugee camp, then eventually rescued and taken to the United States and to a family in upstate New York through a United Nations-U.S. Embassy program.
That paragraph is a summary of what has been told before.
But before Friday morning, the details were never quite as available, or openly offered. In a room of perhaps 100 reporters from all corners of the world, Lomong, huge eyes scanning the crowd in disbelief that he was where he was, went into stunning detail.
"I was 6 years old. I was the happiest kid in Sudan. My parents were around. We were always playing. They never told me about what was going on around us."
And then, one Sunday, they went to church.
"It was 8 a.m. Mass. Just my dad and mom and me. It was an open-air church. The priest was praising God. Then the soldiers came in."
