From 0 to 49: My Journey in 7 Year Blocks - 8 to 14

0 – 7 on the way to 49: 8-14  

A couple of weeks ago I woke up realizing I was turning 49 in less than a month. No, I am not worried about getting older, I was pumped because I was turning 49 and how cool it was to be a prime number. Oops, about three seconds later I realized that 49 is not a prime number and that neat phenomena wasn’t going to happen until I turn 53. However, the fact that 49 can be divided equally into 7 equal parts of 7 led me to realize that, with some minor overlap, my life has really worked well in the 7-year increments. So, to appease my own curiosity and to cathartically get it out, I decided to write about each of my 7-year segments leading up to turning 49.

Today I venture through ages 8 through 15. There were some awesome things that occurred during these seven years. Many people assume that when you use the term awesome that it means simply good things. It can inspire fear as well. During my eight-year-old times I was still playing youth soccer and little league baseball. I was fortunate enough to play on teams that were sponsored by Central Florida Aluminum. Having the opportunity to play soccer coached by my Aunt Jane and playing baseball with my cousin Ross, while being coached by my Uncle Allen must have been fun but also probably allowed me to understand family pressure at an early age. Another great thing that happened when I turned 8 was getting “my” first dog, Penny. Our family always had dogs, but she was my first one. I think she was some sort of Chihuahua mix. She had a lot of staying power and lived until I was 21 or so. The eighth year was not all sunshine and rainbows, to steal a phrase from Rocky. My parent’s marriage dissolved and things were rough before they were better.

Although my mom and dad could not live as a couple, they never challenged us to pick sides. Okay, I am not naïve, maybe in the beginning it was not perfect but then they realized they had two kids who were doing good things and they worked together to give us great lives. Once I started elementary school, I was afforded the opportunity to attend an incredible school in Winter Haven. It was called Saint Paul’s Episcopal. We had to wear uniforms, attend chapel, and had Fathers who oversaw the school. It was an amazing educational experience all the way through the 7th grade. Amazingly, many of the same people I went through St. Paul’s with, I graduated high school with as well. So many of them have gone on to be super successful in their own careers. We had outstanding teachers, did the coolest labs, went on amazing field trips, and had a bad ass playground.

Ages 9,10,11 were all kind of normal kid years. Home life was great. I spent time at two different homes, had two Christmas’, played the typical youth sports, had my introduction to youth team tennis, and traveled with the family to our normal vacation spots. Looking back on some old pictures, it appears that the devilish side of me started coming out with my crooked little grin. Life seemed to be headed down a normal path, but nirvana was waiting on the outfield fence of the Lake Alfred Little League fields at Lion’s Park. 

 BMX, otherwise known as bicycle motocross, was a racing form that was getting huge. Lake Alfred even jumped into the market and created a track behind the baseball fields. I will never forget going out and watching my first race. My dad thought it might be fun, so we gave it a shot. I ran a paper pie plate for my first race, did not have hand brakes, and for sure sucked. But guess what, I was hooked. This was my chance to race like my dad and granddaddy. Sure, it was not cars, but it was fast, and boy was it fun. We started going to the races on Sundays and met the other locals who raced as well. Some of them had been in it longer and let us know that we could leave the comfy confines of LA and head to places like Orlando and Sarasota. As I improved the travel picked up. My mom and I would load up in her Dodge Omni with the bicycle on a rack off the back and go to Sarasota on Friday night, Orlando on Saturday night, and then Lake Alfred on Sunday. This was such a cool experience. I started getting better and we started going further away. I am not sure there was a track in Florida that I did not race on. We started doing Nationals and at 12 I was fortunate enough to win two novice nationals. There was not a National or large regional race that we missed. God, I loved BMX.

This three-letter set of initials pretty much dominated my life for the next few years. I traveled all over the US with other racers, when my parents could not go, and it even got to the point that my dad purchased an RV for my mom to take us to races for the big nationals. Most kids my age were playing team sports, tennis, or golf, but for me pedaling with all my might around a jumping, fast track was what life was all about. There were times I would bring trophies back from some of the big races and they were almost as tall as me. My classmates really did not understand but I truly did not care. Oh yeah, I also played the piano because my mom thought I needed to be a bit more well-rounded. This talent would eventually lead me to getting to play the huge pipe organ in the chapel at St. Paul’s. That was a cool experience. As I got to the age of thirteen, I think I was starting to feel some resistance. Life was mine. I was a State High Point Champion in BMX, I had the lead part in the school play, which was Benjamin Franklin, I had the coolest friends with the coolest toys, and I was a sponsored BMX racer whose pants got a little too big. This next part is super personal and still affects me today. I have never forgotten the lesson, have used it on my daughter with much explanation, and have had multiple discussions with athletes about the consequences of your words.

When we went down the path of BMX racing my dad had very few rules. One was to try my hardest each race and the other was to never quit. Not being the most talented and getting a late start I was just a brute of a rider. I developed such strong legs that I often had to gear my bicycles higher because I would simply pedal through my gearing. As I got better the local races became great practice sessions since we were always racing big State races or out of state at the War of the Stars, otherwise known as the Nationals. There were times, whether locally or nationally, that I would fall during the race, quickly get up and hustle to the finish line because you just never knew what was going to happen with the other racers. Well, one Sunday my ego (and thinking I was some sort of bad ass) took over at a local race in Lake Alfred. I do not remember exactly where I fell but it was early in the race. Instead of getting up, remounting, and crushing the pedals to complete the race, I cool guyed it to the finish line. Guess who was waiting for me there. You’re right, my dad. He put my front tire between his legs and advised me that I had broken one of the rules he set forth: never quit. He told me I was off the bike for two weeks. In a fit of anger, I looked up at him and told him, “fine, I quit!” I had no idea the consequences of those words. I am sure he was heartbroken, but not as badly as I was over the next few weeks when I realized that all the things we had for racing were no longer at our house. I told him I quit so he did not give me the option to take it back. Wow!!, that stung!! Things were not good around the home, in my thoughts, for a good long while. As I stated earlier, this little snafu that I caused has stuck with me for years. I was good, had intentions of trying to be professional, and loved that I got to travel and race. With three words it was over. 

 All was not lost. One night, I am sure I was sulking about something as a typical 13–14-year-old would, my dad came to me for a man to “man” talk. He told me that he would not support me going back into BMX but that he would support me one more time in a different sport. I had played around with tennis and that talk would open another set of doors and opportunities that still positively affects me today. Tennis started simply with lessons from Eric Dove and Robert Hollis. I played locally with antiquated grips and just a hustle to every ball attitude. Those simple days would take me all the way through the 15-21 years. We will talk about them tomorrow. 

I would like to thank my mom for all the photos and memories that she has supplied for this little run through.