Just like Daley Thompson

Ms A.B. Williamson

The wee boy sped along the passageway, stopped by the fire door at its end. Turned round, not quite out of breath, proud he had run so quickly.

Dressed in a grey track suit with a blue trim, a badge on his chest declared "I am four" - a sweat band round his blonde curly hair pushing it away from his glasses. Having been dressed more rapidly than his young sister, he had accompanied his grandmother towards the entrance, but just had to show his sporting ability.

"See, Granny, I'm just like Daley Thomson."

Granny held her words as she smiled, "so you are, Tom" but thinking "anything more unlike Daley Thomson, a large black athlete, greatest in the world, while you are a wee white-skinned blonde boy, I cannot imagine!"

Children are so innocent in their perception of things, what Tom saw was the wonder of the achievements of a fine athlete: that his skin was black was of no importance, he was the world's greatest Olympian.

At age eight Tom was awarded live-saving certificates. Poor Granny had to swim, pretending to be drowning while he gallantly rescued her. The relationship between young and old, black and white or whatever is naturally spontaneous, without prejudice, just innocence.