Escalating Success
101 Ways to Move Past Depression
Poinsettia Publications
PO Box 1881
Simpsonville, SC 29681
Published by Poinsettia Publications
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Keshawn Durant
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior consent of the Publisher, except brief quotes used by a reviewer.
This book was written to inform and to educate its readers. The techniques mentioned in the book may work extremely well for some and not at all for others. Consult with your physician before attempting to use these methods for treating depression.
Neither Keshawn Durant nor Poinsettia Publications shall be liable or responsible to any person or entity for loss, damage, injury, or ailment caused, or alleged to be caused, directly or indirectly, by the information or lack of information contained in this book.
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This book is also available in paperback format at most major online retailers.
Dedication
To my family, friends, and supporters – both then and now
Philippians 4:13 (King James Version)
I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.
Contents
Part I
Ch 1 – Florence, South Carolina
Ch 2- My Discovery of Football
Part II
Ch 9 - Chad Wayne Emond by Raquel Moscarelli
Part III
Ch 11 - 101 Ways to Move Past Depression
Part IV
Ch 12 -The Stupid Athlete by Tom Kearns
Ch 13 - The Trauma of a Career-Ending Sports Injury & The Psychology of Recovery by Dr. Tom Ferraro
Never would I have ever imagined this.
As my eyes flutter, and my mind slowly begins to function as it should after a night’s rest, I instantly know that something is wrong. There is a sense of something being terribly wrong. Having experienced one of the worst years of my life, I comfort myself by saying that there is absolutely no way that anything else bad can happen. It’s just not possible. There would be a greater chance of a blizzard in the Sahara Desert than something else negative happening in my life any time soon. I have never been more wrong.
It is nearly time for football practice, and so I finally muster up the strength to start my day. I sit up on the edge of my bed and immediately the feeling of uneasiness creeps back into my thoughts. “I’ve got to shake this,” I think to myself. When I arise from the bed, my body feels different. I start to question if I hurt myself at practice yesterday. Did I hurt myself the day before and not realize it? Maybe as I enjoyed the comfort of my bed and nighttime bliss, I somehow contorted my body into some abnormal position which has now made its awkward presence felt.
I work my way to the bathroom and relieve my full bladder. I yawn and grab my toothbrush and lace it with toothpaste and begin to brush. I start to feel as though maybe the bad omen from just a few moments ago was just a figment of my imagination.
The foamy, lather from my soap begins to sting my eyes. I promptly drench my face with cool water that is temporarily refreshing and soothing. Grabbing my hand towel, I dry my face and that’s when I see it – my eye. I can see the chestnut brown iris of my right eye as my other eye is closing. I blink again and my right eye continues to stare back at my now terrorized and confused image in the mirror. I try repeatedly to force my eye to close, but it will not budge.
I begin to dress, and as I manage to push my belt through each belt loop, I consider whether I should go to the doctor or not. For many, this would have been an easy decision. However, my recent struggles combined with my unreasonable sense of indestructibility created by years of being an unstoppable athlete have now caused me to be indecisive at this time.
I soon realize that I am having some degree of difficulty with breathing because my right nostril is completely closed. I had never had any allergic reaction of this magnitude. There is a definite dilemma occurring and going through this alone is not a viable option.
I dial my best friend, Louis, who also attends South Carolina State University. Louis answers and I swiftly say, “Hey man. This is Keshawn. Something ain’t right. My eye won’t close.” He says that he will be right over. I’m feeling better because I know that he will help me to figure this out. He is an aspiring anesthesiologist and has studied medicine. He has to have an answer as to what is happening to me or at least have a better idea of what’s going on than I have, I think to myself.
While waiting for Louis to come over, I am still not entirely at ease. My thoughts swarm with all the possibilities of what could be wrong with me. I also think about the negative impact of my missing several days of practice.
Coming out of high school, I was All-Conference, All-Region, and All-City in everything (baseball, basketball, football, and track-and-field.) Not only was I All-Conference and All City, I was also MVP in basketball, track, and football. I was the Lower State Champion three years in a row for track-n-field. I also played soccer but only could play a half-season because baseball, track, and soccer were all spring sports, and I ultimately decided to let soccer go. I received “Most Athletic” honors in high school. In my hometown of Florence, South Carolina, I was the first quarterback to ever throw over a thousand yards at Wilson High School. My wide receiver, Kyle Dowling (the nephew of Harry Carson - Super Bowl champion and Hall of Famer), led the state in yards per catch at 27.1 yards – something that no other receiver had done in Wilson history.
After being heavily recruited by a variety of schools, I thought that it was ridiculous that I had to be benched my first year in college. I began to have doubts about my college selection. The quarterback coach that recruited me abruptly decided to leave for another university going into my second season, and I felt confined and lonely as I made major decisions regarding my college football career and other important aspects of my life.
The answering machine picks up an unanswered call, and I hear my mother’s voice being played jolting me out of my trance, “Shorty, Where are you? I’ve been trying to reach you. How about givin’ me a call back?”
My uncle Joe gave me the nickname of Shorty. Actually, the nickname was really “Short Stop” but everyone shortened it and became accustomed to “Shorty.” Joe played baseball, and short stop is the position that my uncle played throughout his career. He also won a baseball state championship for his high school. He was later inducted into the athletic hall of fame in Florence, South Carolina, in 2010. My nickname is ironic to say the least. I was 6’2” and about 165 pounds when I was only thirteen years old. My mother, Betty, is approximately 5’8” and to hear her call me “Shorty” always brought at least a slight chuckle from a stranger or new friend of the family. Oftentimes, it would turn into a long lasting conversation as I had to explain how this uncommon nickname came to be.
I don’t believe that I should tell my mother what is going on for now. It will just cause her to worry unnecessarily, I think to myself. She is the only parent in the household taking care of my two younger brothers, Darian and Justin. Being aware of all that she does for our family, I decide to not mention my current health concerns until I know for sure that there is definitely a problem. Raising my nine year old and six year old siblings while working full time is surely enough for her to take on without having to worry about me.
I feel as though something the size of a marble is stuck in my throat, and it is difficult to swallow – difficult to breathe. Beads of perspiration begin to accumulate on the bridge of my nose as I begin to feel anxious again and distraught.
Part I
Chapter 1: Florence, South Carolina
Even though my birth certificate states my place of birth as Paterson, New Jersey; Florence, South Carolina, will always be the place that I call my home. I don’t recall much (or anything) pertaining to New Jersey during my extremely early years. The first place on the map that my memory recalls is Florence, South Carolina.
Florence is the county seat of Florence County and lies near the northeast corner of the state. Considered a coastal plain state, Florence is flat, but not without great natural beauty with its wildlife, winding rivers and streams, and beautiful farmland and vegetation. With a rich history, beautiful historic houses, and a rapidly-growing reputation for business, medicine, and culture, it’s no wonder that it was an All-America City Finalist in the late 1990’s. History tells that Florence was a very important supply and railroad repair center during the Civil War, and the home of the Florence Stockade, a prison for Union prisoners of war. Because of its three major railroads, Florence was able to supply its cotton, timber, and tobacco to other parts of the country. Today, Florence is a booming successful city with an outstanding reputation not only for its industrial success, but also for its incredible health care facilities. What amazes visitors and residents alike is the ability for this thriving city to maintain its small town feel. “Flo-Town” is what the locals call it. I call it home.
When walking down the back streets not far from my home, I can see rows and rows of farmland containing tobacco, corn stalks, strawberry patches, muscadines, and cotton fields for as far as the eye can see. Early morning or after a spring shower, I smell the earthy scents of the Pee Dee region of South Carolina; fertilizers, manure, fresh vegetables, newly born flowers, and other aromas that I can’t quite distinguish, but that make up the signature aroma of my hometown. I eye the huge tractors with the hardworking farmers sitting high upon them. I can picture their hands, calloused and weathered, but strong, just like the land they work. I know these men work tirelessly at least fourteen hours a day, day after day, and take so much pride in the crops they nurture, and the land they love.
As I watch the huge watering systems gently, but consistently, shower the thirsty crops, I imagine myself running through the large arches of water - pretending that the sprinklers are just for my own personal pleasure. I close my eyes and visualize myself making a mad dash across my yard and the quiet street before reaching the fields of crops. The frosty morning air creates a slight tingle on my skin as I whiz through the field of vegetation under an arc of fresh cool water. A few droplets of water fall into my hair, onto my arms, and down my back as I run underneath the huge rainbows of water, but I make it completely across the field without being drenched by the full-on power of the industrial-sized sprinkler system. I turn around and zoom back in the opposite direction from which I just came with the hopes of being able to beat the system again. Ready, set, GO! I have successfully managed to cross the path twice without very much moisture being added to my wardrobe; which is a wonderful thing because I am certain that my mother would not have approved of my wet clothing. Slightly overprotective, mom would be worried about my getting sick if I showed up back at home drenched. At five foot seven and with a dark complexion and beautiful brown eyes, mom is the family enforcer, unlike dad who has more of a laid back personality. Although she looks like my sister since she is so young, she makes sure everything is done right from chores around the house to my grades.
I open my eyes and quickly decide that I’d like to try out my visualization in real life, and so I step out onto the porch, careful not to touch the freshly painted spindles for fear that the white paint might stain my clothes, yet another mishap mom might not approve of. The fresh spring air greets me and is aromatic as I had imagined it to be. I squint lightly in the bright morning sunlight before I run down the porch steps, two at a time, excited to embark upon my journey. Everything is just as I have recently pictured it; fresh, green, and awakening to a new day on this beautiful Spring morning. I glance out across the landscape and see healthy green grass hedged in by the vibrant yellows, purples, and whites of newly sprouted wildflowers. This array of color gives way to the golden hues that signify the beginning of the farm fields in the distance where I can see silver magical arcs of water already hard at work.
Before I have a chance to start on my adventure, I notice a stocky dark figure strolling in my direction. It doesn’t take long to figure out that it is my cousin, Cedric; in fact, I can tell right away just by the way he walks. Cedric has a way of looking like he owns the world and everything and everyone in it. This is quite ironic, since as far as I know, he only truly owns a set of baseball cards, a bike, and some video games. I envy his outward confidence as he draws nearer. Although I want to experience the adventure that I have been carefully planning all morning, when I see Cedric, I instantly know that I will do whatever Cedric wants to do. I still feel like an only child, even though my brother, Darian, has recently been born. It is this feeling that makes me quickly learn to appreciate any and all types of interaction with other kids my age - anything is better than being alone all of the time or with a baby. There are only so many activities a kid can invent to do by himself. Plus Cedric has an excellent sense of humor, and he always keeps me laughing.
Cedric’s mother and my mother are sisters. Cedric and I happen to be about the same age. We are about a year and a half apart in age, and he is my only cousin in Florence that is this close to me in age; this allows us to have a very close relationship. We live in the same working-class neighborhood, and my house is actually within walking distance of the homes of a few of my other cousins and my grandmother. Grandma is knick-named Chubby, and she is very well known for her generosity and her cooking. She is known to feed what seems like the whole community at times. She also harbors Cedric, or Juicy, as she knick-named him, and I as fugitives at her house when we get into trouble. We have a very tight-knit family and community.
I automatically assume that Cedric wants to go to one of these places; instead, he wants to walk to the Boy’s Club. This is fine with me, since it’s one of the places I love to spend time. The Boy’s Club is an after-school activity center where we get to interact with kids from all over and even outside of the city. There is so much to do there including playing ping pong, tennis and basketball, plus just learning the basics about how to meet and get along with other people. We mostly like to play basketball when we’re there, but both Cedric and I know that we are learning a lot about teamwork and getting along with other kids that might be different from us at the Boy’s Club.
The Boy’s Club is only about a twenty minute walk on most days, but because we don’t have very much to do on this day, we walk much more slowly than usual as we take in all of the sights. We watch the passers-by as we walk on the sidewalk that is alongside the highway. We play the usual games, picking a color and counting the number of cars of that color that pass, making up stories about drivers and passengers in each passing car. I spot a pea green station wagon; luggage or something tied to the top and point it out to Cedric.
“Family vacation!” I shout excitedly. They’re on their way to the beach. The mother is humming a tune and dreaming about the salty waves while the two kids in the back are secretly shoving each other back and forth into opposing doors. Dad is quietly driving, trying not to let anyone know that he’s thinking about work and…”
“Nope,” Cedric interrupts with his cockiest know-it-all voice. “College kids headed to the beach for Spring Break. Two guys in the front seat thinking about how much beer they’ll drink this week, and four girls crowded into the backseat, giggling and acting stupid for the boys in the front. Those suitcases on the top? They’re filled with bikinis and beer. I guarantee it.”
I smile and ask gingerly, “You ever tasted beer?”
“Once,” he boasts, “I snuck a gulp at a family gathering, but don’t say anything to anyone.”
The warning look in eyes tells me he means business.
The car rolls on by us and I give Cedric a gentle shove as he shouts what we both realize at once,
“We’re both wrong! We suck at this game!” An old man, probably in his seventies or eighties sits up stick-straight and holds tightly to the steering wheel, and a young boy is in the passenger seat, and appears to be around our age.
“Grandpa picked up his grandson at the airport. He’s staying for the weekend, and they have all sorts of fun activities planned… Monopoly, Scrabble, you name it.” I re-invent the scenario. We both laugh and decide we’ve had enough of this game.
We chatter and as we talk, we jump around from topic to topic; we talk about school, family, girls, music, sports. You name it; we cover it, though not in any great detail. All the while, we are careful to pay attention to cars as we cross intersections and have to cross the less busy, but still slightly dangerous side streets. I feel free and independent, almost adult-like, and most of all grateful to be able to stroll the streets of my city without a care in the world.
We have a great time at the Boy’s Club, winning a game against some kids from across the city by just three points – my first three-pointer! Cedric suggests that our next stop should be Mom’s store to celebrate or close victory.
I don’t have to think twice about this trip. All of the kids love Mom’s because it is where we are able to buy penny candy, almost any candy that you could imagine - Big League Chews, bubble gum, taffy, Blow Pops, Now & Laters, and so much more - for just one brown cent. It is a child’s “heaven” as we are allowed to shop on our own and fill our brown bags with our sweet treasures.
Almost as pleasant as being surrounded by loads of delicious candy, is the welcome, invited feeling we get every time we walk into Mom’s. The store is owned and operated by a petite woman with a dark complexion who we affectionately call “Mom,” and her heavy-set, lighter skinned husband who is also a taxi cab driver. Mom is always dressed up, in some sort of billowy flowered dress, while her husband dresses down, in jeans or overalls with T-shirts displaying either clever sayings or boasting of places he’s been. Both store owners grin from ear to ear every time we enter the store, making us and all of the other neighborhood kids feel as if we were their own. They chuckle to and nudge each other softly and lovingly as they watch us fill our bags, as though we are their entertainment for the day.
I want sweets but not a whole lot, so I don’t spend all of my $1.50. I feel like the luckiest kid in Florence as I leave the store with some of my favorites, a pouch of fake chewy chew, and a couple of Blowpops. I’m extremely excited to have a bit of change left over for the next trip. Maybe I will buy some chips or a soda the next time I proudly think to myself.
“You wanna stay the night with me tonight?” Cedric asks.
“Yeah,” I say, “I gotta ask my momma though.”
“Ok,” states Cedric as he opens his bottle of water. The previous coolness in the air has disappeared, and it is already starting to feel like the regular hot, humid day today. This time of year it can get up into the 80’s or even the low 90’s in Florence. I am now wishing that I had gotten myself a drink from Mom’s as I feel the familiar droplets of sweat forming on my neck and making their way down my back.
As the heat and humidity continue to build, we walk more and more slowly. We are just discussing how great it would be to go to the river to cool off when our Uncle Michael drives up and asks us what we are up to. Perfect timing. We tell him our plan to try to find a ride to the river, and he offers to drive us.
We thank Uncle Michael for the ride and make our way to the banks of the Lynches River and into the county park where we’ve spent many a summer day. As usual, families are gathered at the park, picnicking and enjoying the gorgeous views of the river as well as the company of their loved ones. Towering Cyprus line the swiftly moving waters and canoers wave as they glide by. The community building is swarming with activity as a party is underway- maybe a family reunion. If I’m not relaxed enough, just the sounds of the flowing river, the chirping birds, and the happy people makes me smile. I love this place.
Cedric and I head to the bank of the river, where we plan to have a rock-skipping contest. I’m way ahead of him when the rock I’ve skipped seems to bounce off the head of an otter skimming across the swirling water. Cedric and I are laughing hysterically, when we hear the panicked shouts of an adult.
“Collin! Collin!!” It’s a tall well-dressed woman, probably in her forties, with a horror-stricken and tear-stained face studying the water frantically. Soon men of varying ages come running from the shelter. One, perhaps, the crying woman’s husband, hugs her tightly while shouting out the same name.
“Collin?!!” His voice breaks, as the other men remove their shoes and, to our astonishment, start jumping into the Lynches, clothes and all. They splash around and dive deep down into the murky depths, searching for something… or someone. We watch the scene as though it’s a movie, playing out right in front of us and suddenly a teenaged girl with features that match the teary woman’s including the mascara- stained cheeks, grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me fiercely.
“Did you see anything? Did you see my little brother? He’s about this tall,” she waves her hand knee-high, crying hard now. “He’s just five,” she gasps.
“No, nothing… I mean, we didn’t see him,” I answer, the horror of what is happening now sinking in. I realize the men are looking for the little boy on the bottom of the Lynches and cringe at the thought of one of them coming to the surface with a small lifeless body.
“Let’s get out of here,” whispers Cedric, probably realizing the same thing I have.
“We can’t just leave,” I say, “We should help.”
He nods, and we walk toward the wooded edge of the river. I scour the forest, hoping we could spot a sign of the boy in the trees before we have to go too far, and encounter the swamp. We hike inward and onward, and stop in our tracks when we hear the distant shouts of a woman, the voice different this time. We run back out to the beginning of the thick treeline.
“We found him! We found him!” She joyously relays. The man and woman who I assume are little Collin’s parents sprint towards the woman, and the one of the submerged men goes back under to alert the informal search crew. One by one, the men emerge, clothing drenched and clinging to their bodies as they climb the bank and walk toward tiredly toward the shelter. I wonder if they’re mad.
“Let’s go see what’s going on,” Cedric says excitedly, his pace already quickening.
“Yes, let’s,” I agree, hoping this really will be a happy ending.
The little boy, Collin, is surrounded by his family. His mother hugs him tightly, then begins to shake him and fights back tears again, “Don’t you ever do that to me again. Do you understand?” she cries. The little boy nods curiously, wondering what all the fuss is about.
Some boys our age are standing on the outskirts of the scene, and Cedric asks where they found little Collin.
“He was in the bathroom,” one of them laughs, sitting in the corner playing with an injured baby duck he found. He thought if his mom saw it, she’d make him let it go, so he was kind of hiding.”
“Yeah, he named the thing Stanley,” snorts the other one, as if a young boy being intrigued by a pet duck is the stupidest thing he’s ever heard of.
The drenched men are passing a kitchen hand towel around, trying to sponge up the sopping messes that their clothing has become. To my surprise, they look relieved, not angry, and they all want a chance to pat the young boy on his little head, as if he’s some sort of hero. I am even more shocked when they disperse. I had assumed they were all part of this family, searching for a missing relative. I was wrong. A few hug the mother and shake the father’s hand, before heading off to the various surrounding shelters or picnic blankets. Collin’s parents repeatedly give them thank-you’s and apologies, which they shrug off. I overhear one of them say, “I know you’d have done the same for me.” He smiles and walks off towards his own waiting family.
I smile, happy to be growing up in a place like this, where the dangers are few and far between, and everyone is truly watching out for me, just in case I encounter one. I wonder if every kid is as lucky as I am as we decide to head home and retell the story that has just unfolded in front of us.
“I wonder what happened to the duck?” Cedric asks, breaking the silence between us and causing us to laugh our way back to the road that will lead us home.
We are a little more than halfway home, and we are now off the highway and back into our neighborhood. As we walk, we are waved to, nodded to, or spoken to by our neighbors at least every other minute. Everyone is busy enjoying their weekends; some are cutting grass, others are walking or driving by, and some are just relaxing on their front porches - having a sip of homemade lemonade and just taking in the scenery of their surroundings. There is a general feeling of peace and contentedness, and I love it. I’m not sure why at the time, but I think it makes me feel safe and secure. Like the world really is a great place full of good people.
When my family visits from Paterson, New Jersey, they are always amazed at how friendly our town is in comparison to theirs. They say that they never knew that people could be so nice. I say, “Yeah, I guess so,” but I honestly wouldn’t know because I haven’t seen the city before. Their comments make me wonder what the city is like and what kind of people live or hang out there. What would have happened if Collin had gone missing in their city? I wonder. This is just home to me, and it is what’s normal.
Chapter 2: My Discovery of Football
Imagine fine tuning and sculpting your body into a highly functioning super weapon. You subject yourself to endless hours of workouts, sweating profusely and pushing yourself to the limits only to spend your down time dealing with tired, aching, and overworked muscles. Imagine working for hour upon hour to fine-tune your mental capacity as well. Anticipating the moves of the enemy, memorizing strategy after strategy, staying focused and disciplined, and preparing mentally to lead courageous, trusting, and dedicated men into battle. Imagine doing all of this while most of your peers are out having a different kind of fun.
Running out onto a field of bright green grass appropriately decorated for the occasion, the roars of the crowd screaming your name and the names of your comrades explode in the air around you mingling with the drum beats and music, and the adrenaline courses through your veins. You smell and feel the earth at your feet waiting to be pounded by the feet of the soldiers in the upcoming battle. You hear the sounds of the men around you grunting on brutal impact and breathing heavily in excitement as you call out the plan, hoping desperately that it will work like you think it will. Together you and your men work through your exhaustion, and any lingering doubts you may have. You pray you have the stamina to outlast the enemy, knowing deep down that all your hard work has to pay off. You throw that crucial game-winning grenade and explosions of yelling and screaming erupt all around you once again. Imagine leading your men to victory and realizing, finally, that there is no greater feeling in the world. You are a quarterback in the amazing game of football. This had been my dream since I was old enough to have one.
Growing up, my mom had always kept us active in sports. She played softball, and my dad played football as a wide receiver and ran track. Because of the active lifestyles of my parents, I had grown up exploring different sports. Athletics were prevalent in my family and even all of my uncles and other family members were involved in sports. Playing sports was just normal to me, just a natural part of life. It was what was expected like walking, talking, and breathing. We all learned to love sports at a very young age.
Football was my favorite sport from the very beginning. My favorite NFL team was the Dallas Cowboys. My mom was and still is a Cowboy fan. I always had Cowboy paraphernalia - like curtains and bed linens. Sundays were sacred at my house as we cheered on our team from one victory to another. The Cowboys were Super Bowl champions and America’s team. My dream was to play on a team like that some day.
When I was 9 and 10 years old during the Pee Wee football years, all I wanted to do was play football. To my great disappointment, I found out when I tried to join the Pee Wee league that they had weight restrictions, I guess for safety reasons. Unfortunately, at approximately 5’9 and 115 pounds, I was told I couldn’t play because I was too big, which disqualified me.
I was crushed because playing football had been a dream of mine for a long time already.
Long hot summer days and evenings of playing catch at the park with friends and my dad just weren’t enough for me anymore; I had a burning desire to be an important part of a real football team, and at that point I was being told I’d have to wait even longer to do so. This was a huge disappointment, but I wasn’t going to sit around and wait until I could play to do something.
I didn’t let the Pee Wee restrictions keep me down. I immediately decided to focus on another sport I loved, basketball. Not only did I love this sport, but I seemed to have quite a bit of natural talent. I could dribble the ball up and down the court quickly and skillfully and make baskets with ease due to my jumping ability. I also had an advantage as a guard because of my sheer size. At the age of 13, I was chosen to play on the National AAU basketball team. The mission of the AAU basketball program was and still is to “initiate, stimulate, and improve opportunities for amateur basketball competition and to promote leadership, sportsmanship, fitness, and athletic excellence.” Add this incredible honor and experience to the tremendous foundation I had from the Boy’s Club, and the result was amazing. These experiences had a tremendous impact on me not only as an athlete, but also as a person. My desire to excel at sports and be an integral part of a successful team as well as my leadership skills continued to grow. The more my skills and talents were nurtured, the better and stronger I became.
My experience with the AAU team also allowed me to visit other cities such as St. Louis at the age of 13. I was required to play against the other teams from states all over the country like Florida and New York for big basketball games.
Cedric was also on this team with me and took the away game trips as well. Each city was unique and amazing in its own way, but the visit to the arch with Cedric was indescribable. Imagine being thirteen years old and staring up at the sparkling, tallest man-made monument in the nation with your favorite cousin. Like many of the players, Cedric and I were able to take the tram to ride to the top of the arch. When I got out, I was awestruck by the fantastic views of St. Louis to my right and the Mississippi River to my left. I don’t know how many thirteen year old boys get to experience this kind of thing on the merits of their own talents, but I felt and still feel lucky to be one that did. Although I greatly missed my family during these trips, I felt very independent traveling without them at the young age of thirteen as well.
When I entered middle school, Montrez Johnson, a friend and classmate, thought I should try-out for JV football. We were the same age, and he was already playing football. We had never played football together, but Montrez saw potential in me. I was 6’2” tall and 165 pounds and wore a size 13 men’s shoe at the age of 13. He felt that I needed to try out because he knew that I was a talented athlete (he’d seen me play basketball), and I had size on my side. He felt that I would experience great success if I tried football. He gave me that tiny little motivational push that I still needed.
I tried out for JV and immediately made the team. I played on the JV team as starting quarterback for two years. This practice and experience was invaluable. This is where I had the chance to hone and work on perfecting not only my skills, but also my knowledge of the fundamentals of the game of football. I also learned a lot about teamwork and persistence on this team. This was where I learned that I had to be the leader of the team. The team looked up to the quarterback because the quarterback was the guy who ran the offense. That is a lot of pressure for one person, but I found that I function very well under great pressure. One lesson I was quick to learn was that the quarterback must put his team on his shoulders. I learned unity as well as leadership skills. Most importantly, it taught me that the team was my family outside of my real family - or a second family, and that if I was a good leader, the people around me would follow my lead. My goal was to be the best leader I could possibly be for the guys on my team, my school, and ultimately, my city.
After this, I went into high school and progressed to Varsity football at age 14, but didn’t start. I played behind Clayton Holmes, a senior in high school. I really didn’t spend a lot of time with him on the football field because he was a senior and I was a freshman; however, I admired his game and his ability to make the position look so easy. He was just one more person that I could watch and learn from as a model player. Clayton later became a cornerback for the Dallas Cowboys. We became friends back then and are still friends today.
High school was the beginning of an exciting and busy time for me. I had many wonderful true friends. Some of these great friends were Dontrell Deas, Clifton Davis, Ron Knowling, Chris Carey, Kyle Dowling, Melanie King, Samyra McClain, Valerie Myers, and Rob Woods. Although my time was limited after school due to formal and informal practices, we found time to hang out together, and we were real friends. These were friends that understood my passion for sports and didn’t get angry when my time with them was limited due to three and four hour a day practices. I knew I could always trust anyone of them with anything and everything, and they felt the same way about me. Every day at school we would eat our lunches as quickly as we could and then go outside and form a circle. Then the fun would begin. We would spend the remainder of our lunch period picking on each other through our crude and funny jokes. We definitely had some great times together!
I also had two little energetic brothers at home. Whenever I could fit it in, I would take them outside and throw around the football with them, chase them around the yard, wrestle with them under the watchful eyes of my parents, or carry them around on my back. They were just little kids at that time, and spending time with them always helped me relax and remember not to take things too seriously. I loved hanging out with my little brothers, Justin and Darian, and I got the sense that the feelings were mutual. Their eyes always seemed to light up when I walked in the door, and they’d stare intensely while waiting patiently for me to finish dinner most nights, hoping desperately that I wasn’t too tired out from practice to give them a little of my time. Most nights I was dead-tired, but I tried to fit in at least a few minutes of play time with my little brothers since I knew it was good for all three of us.
At the beginning of my tenth grade year in high school, I was finally ready to begin living out my dreams. I spent every waking moment that I wasn’t in classes playing sports. This is when I started basketball, baseball, football, and track for my high school. I excelled in every sport. For each sport, I enjoyed the unity and brotherhood that’s formed with the team. The feeling of family or of being brothers was something I truly loved and was inspired by. Football was my passion because I enjoyed the thinking that was involved. You really have to be on your toes to be the quarterback. You are the “general of the army,” so to speak. I enjoyed having that kind of responsibility and respect. I also loved the challenge. I actually loved playing each and every sport and would do it all again if I could.
One part of my dream was still lacking; however, I was still not a starter at quarterback for my football team. I played behind Gary Greg, who was the starting quarterback at the time. I started noticing that I was much faster than many other people. Others began to take notice also. They noticed how I broke away from tackles, and how I ran away from others in practice, as well as how I jumped over people trying to tackle me. When I got tackled, it was hard for me to go down. I also threw the football further than anyone had seen a ball thrown before. The coaching staff, players, and the community that watched us practice and play all noticed and commented on these skills of mine.
I could throw a baseball faster than a lot of people, and jump much higher than others.
I was great at running, and I was quick. There was only one other player faster than me, Clifton Davis, who was my starting running back who broke several of the running back records at Fayetteville State also. I began to really notice my talents in comparison to others when I was around fifteen years old. I truly felt like I was destined to be a great athlete.
I continued to perfect my talents by playing in every sport I could and practicing on my own or with friends when I wasn’t at a formal practice. I spent three to four hours practicing each and every day throughout my high school years.
In 11th grade, I finally became a full time starter as quarterback of my high school football team. Darian Hagan, the quarterback for the Colorado Buffaloes was my idol at this time, and so was his running back, Eric Bieniemy. I wanted to model my game after them, and that is what I focused on doing. I believed that part of becoming great was knowing who to watch and learn from.
I had a good season as starting quarterback. We didn’t make the playoffs, but this was the year when I became the first quarterback in the history of Wilson High School to throw over 1,000 yards. All of my friends were happy for me. They showered me with congratulations and there was a real sense of pride in the hallways of my school because I had put the school in the news and, in a sense, on the map. In the process of throwing for those yards, my wide receiver, Kyle Dowlings, was the number one player for the state. This accolade allowed me to win Most Athletic at Wilson High School. When the statistics first came out, I was ecstatic. I couldn’t believe that I’d done it.
In addition to my success on the football team, I became MVP in basketball, baseball, track, and football, and All-Conference at State. I had competed in the state track meet every year in grades ten through twelve. My hard work had paid off, and I had passed every class. So, it wasn’t a great surprise my senior year when I started to get noticed by a lot of colleges.
One of the greatest memories of my high school years was when Cedric and I were interviewed by Pete Yanity. Pete Yanity was a young sports anchor in Florence, South Carolina. This was the first televised interview by two young sports figures in Florence, and my cousin and I were the two young sports figures! It was amazing. The butterflies swarmed in my stomach as we drove to the news station in Florence for this huge interview. I knew family, friends, teachers, and even just plain old acquaintances would be watching. I wanted to make everyone as proud of my accomplishments as I was. When we walked into the studio, the reality of it all set in as I was ushered into a room with Cedric for make-up. The lights and camera that came next made the whole experience even more surreal. We were two high school football players who had become celebrities in what seemed like overnight, though I knew I had worked extremely hard to get to that moment.
It was shortly after that interview that the offers from Hampton University, The University of South Carolina, and South Carolina State and numerous other colleges came rolling in. I could barely keep up with the offers and all of the excitement and inner turmoil they were starting to create for me. My friends and family couldn’t understand my stress level, they were all just excited for me because of these great opportunities.
This was an extremely intense and exciting time in my life. I felt I had left my mark for my high school and community as an athlete. This was a great feeling knowing that I wouldn’t soon be forgotten, even if I were to leave the area. I was finally graduating from high school and had several colleges clamoring to entice me with their scholarships. I knew I was moving closer and closer to my ultimate goal, which was to be part of an NFL team.
I had worked hard, but I knew I had many people to thank for my success. Throughout my schooling, I was lucky enough to be impacted by many wonderful coaches. I also had the exposure to a great education and wonderful athletic opportunities at North Vista Elementary School, Williams Middle School, and Wilson High School, all of Florence, South Carolina. I know I couldn’t have become who I was and am without these opportunities and people in my life. The Boy’s Club had also remained a huge part of my life throughout the years. I had to smile when I thought of the earlier years, when I was just learning how to play basketball and table tennis. Everyone there was so accepting and supportive, yet somehow they could always motivate me to push myself to be better. Now when I played there, I was like a celebrity. Everyone wanted me on their teams. I also had the full support of a wonderful loving family for which I was and am very grateful. Thoughts of possibly leaving these people and places to go to college - possibly outside of my community- both excited and sickened me, but I knew I was ready for bigger and better things.
It was also a confusing time. I had my whole life in front of me, and many important decisions to make. It’s tough to really know what you want for the rest of your life when you are eighteen years old. At least that’s what I heard from all my friends at the time. Maybe that was just one more way in which I was unique because I did know where I wanted my life to go. There was one thing I absolutely knew for sure. My focus and end goal was to play for the NFL; this was my ultimate dream, and my plan was to do whatever it took to get there. Little did I know that fate had other plans for me.