I grew up poor-living in the projects with six brothers, three sisters, my father, and a wonderful mother. We had little money and few goods, but plenty of love and attention. I was happy and energetic. I understood that no matter how poor a person was, they could still afford a dream.
My dream was athletics. By the time I was sixteen, I could throw a ninety-mile-per-hour fastball and hit anything that moved on the baseball field. I was also lucky: My high-school coach was John, who not only believed in me, but taught me how to believe in myself. He taught me the difference between having a dream and how to realize a dream. One particular incident with Coach John changed my life forever.
It was the summer between my junior and senior years, and a friend recommended me for a summer job. This meant a chance for money in my pocket-money for a new bike and new clothes, and the start of savings for a house for my mother. The prospect of a summer job was attractive, and I wanted to jump at the opportunity.
Then I realized I would have to give up summer baseball to handle the work schedule, and that meant I would have to tell Coach John I wouldn't be playing. I was afraid of this, thinking of the advice my mother told us: "If you make your bed, you have to lie in it."
When I told Coach John, he was as mad as I expected him to be. "You have your whole life to work," he said. Your playing days are limited. You can't afford to waste them."
I stood before him with my head hanging, trying to think of the words that would explain to him why my dream of buying my mom a house and having money in my pocket was worth facing his disappointment in me.
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"How much are you going to make at this job?" he demanded.
……
Then I devoted myself to sports that summer.
