Conrad Andringa showed up to the 2026 Winter Olympics in Milan wearing a hand-knit hat, matching scarf, and mittens—all emblazoned with the name of his grandson's girlfriend, US mogul skier Tess Johnson. At 87, he wasn't there for the medal count. He was there because someone he loved was competing at the highest level, and he wanted her to know it.
Standing on the sidelines, Andringa recorded a video message that captured something the highlight reels usually miss: the pure, unfiltered pride of someone who shows up. "Go, Tess! I said, GO TESS!" he called out, his voice carrying the kind of certainty that only comes from decades of showing up for people. "That's what we're here for—because Tess is skiing today. And we want her to become a member of the family legitimately!"
The video went viral not because it was polished or clever, but because it was genuine. Here was a man in his ninth decade, bundled against the Italian cold, treating his grandson's girlfriend's competition like it mattered as much as anything else in his life. Because to him, it did.
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This is what Andringa does. He's the kind of grandfather who doesn't just talk about his 12 grandchildren—he attends their hockey games, their soccer matches, their competitions. He drove to Deer Valley, Utah, eight years in a row to watch his grandsons compete in World Cup mogul events. He made it to the 2018 Olympics when one of his grandsons competed. He travels, he shows up, he cheers.
"The pleasure and the thrill of seeing someone I care about who has worked so hard and learned so much to be at the level she has hoped to compete at, the Olympics, which is the ultimate level, is great," Andringa said. It's a simple statement, but it carries the weight of someone who understands something essential: that presence is a form of love, and consistency is a form of faith.
Tess Johnson finished 5th in the women's dual moguls event. In the context of an Olympic medal count, that's a particular result. In the context of an 87-year-old man who hand-knitted a hat to wear while cheering her on, it's something else entirely—proof that someone she cares about believed she belonged there.
Andinga's moment reminds us that the Olympics capture more than athletic achievement. They capture the people who show up, year after year, for the people they love.
