Sunny Side Up

Phone ringin’. Baby screamin’. Dog barkin’ at the mailman bringing that stack of bills, overdue. Good mornin’ baby, How are you?

These are the lyrics in Phil Vassar’s hit country music song “Another Day in Paradise” but they are true for most of us on a daily basis. As a working mother with two very active teenagers, I can relate to the noise, the hustle and bustle, the chaos. Especially in our era, with laptops, iPhones, all the social media, there seems to be no end to life being “on” and turned up loudly. But does it have to be like that? 

The other morning, I was brushing my teeth, gazing out of our bathroom window. A white-winged dove landed on the feeder that is right outside that window. I noticed that it had blue around its red eyes, and a greenish hue on its face. Why hadn’t I noticed that before?  Because I, like most people, was too consumed with the busy-ness and noisy-ness of life.  I realized I needed to put some down time, some silence, back into my daily routine. 

Why is silence important?  If it is so important, why do most people avoid it?  For me, silence is vital to self-reflection. Self-reflection is vital to self-awareness. Self-awareness is vital to reinforcing our good qualities and improving our not-so-hot ones. This makes a lot of people uncomfortable.  The concept of change makes many squirm in their seats or run for cover. However, once faced and embraced, most people will ask themselves why they hadn’t done it sooner! 

Instead of rushing out the door to work as I had planned, I put on my tennis shoes and went for a walk. I went for a walk without my phone or Walkman. I breathed. I allowed myself to be alone with myself. I noticed new flowers, baby birds,  homes being built. I cleared my mind, restored my focus, my balance. I felt calmer yet more energized than I had in awhile. It was time well spent, not wasted. 

Don’t be afraid to talk that walk, both literally and figuratively. Take a stroll through your mind without the distraction of television, computers, cell phones. If you don’t like what you encounter, change it! If you do, embrace it!  But stop avoiding yourself with all the noise, noise, noise.  We all need time, even a moment, of silence, of down time, each and every day.  It is key to health, well-being, and substantial happiness. 

For as long as I can remember, I've loved the outdoors. My mother instilled this in me: noticing new buds on the flower bushes, bird nests, the smell of fresh-cut grass. Having a love of nature goes hand in hand with being an active person. Starting in my teen years, I have lived a healthy life of eating well and strengthening my body.

I intentionally avoided the using the word "exercise", because that holds negative connotations for many people.  For me personally, an active lifestyle and healthy eating are not just for weight management. It's more about being centered and strong- physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually.

Here in Texas, we have experienced a particularly nasty winter that seems to keep going on and on. So around the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays, I began to run or even to walk outside less and less. After the first the year, I stopped completely.

While I recognize that I could very well work out to fitness tapes or to go to one of our many local gyms, I didn't. I don't like to do that. I don't experience the release, the mental and emotional cleansing, the satisfaction that being outside brings me.

But not doing anything was taking its toll. I felt increasingly crabby, slept fitfully, and wasn't as mindful about my food choices. Something had to change.

The other morning I vowed that I would haul out my dusty running shoes and hit the road. But, it was cold!  Freezing, to be exact! The nagging thought of "It's way too cold out to go run" swam around in my brain. But the stronger thought of "That's an excuse, not a reason!" also swam around ... and ultimately won.

My two dogs were so excited when donned running pants and laced up my tennis shoes, but they also looked skeptical. The last time I had put on those particular shoes was to take the garbage down to the curb on a particularly icy morning. But they weren't disappointed. We ran through our entire neighborhood, greeting pets, noticing new houses being built, breathing in the fresh, albeit brisk, air. Boy, did that feel wonderful. Why had I stopped?

I stopped because I fell into the pitfall of excuses that we instead convince ourselves are reasons. It's too cold. I don't have time. That's too hard. I'm too old. The list goes on and on.

My dear friend calls it "lies we tell ourselves and choose to believe." Spot on.

It's critical to carefully examine why we do or do not do certain things, and separate the reasons from the excuses. Once we do that, we owe it to ourselves and those we love to push past the excuses.

Get rid of them. Free yourself! You'll be happier. You'll be healthier.  

The other day, I stopped by a local pet supply store to pick up a few things for our dogs. As I zoomed through the aisles on my lunch break from work, something caught my eye. I stopped in my tracks and took a few steps backwards. “Are those Wolfhounds?” I asked the elderly woman holding the handles of two leashes attached to the gargantuan dogs. “Yes, they are.  Scottish Wolfhounds,” she replied pleasantly with a thick Scottish accent.   The dogs were truly magnificent.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen them in person before!" I exclaimed. “May I pet them?"

The woman nodded her consent and went on to explain that the breed was quite timid. This was confirmed when I held out my hand for them to sniff.  Even though I had squatted down in a position of submission, both dogs retreated behind their “mother.”

An elderly man walked up with a big smile on his face.

“I see you’ve met Bunt and Bess!” he said to me.

The couple, who I learned in our conversation were husband and wife, had recently come over from Scotland to visit their grandson. The grandson was stationed at Fort Hood, and he and his wife had just had a new baby. The couple had come over from Scotland for an extended visit to meet their new grandson and spend time with their grandson and his family. They were, in the purest sense of the word, a lovely couple. Just lovely. The dogs, curious, started to warm up to me and allowed me to pet them. The man and wife told me how they were from Champion bloodlines and that the male, Bunt, had recently championed in a national contest. They told me their names were chosen for the woman’s parents, long gone, as Bess (Elizabeth) and Bunt (John) were her parents’ nicknames.

“Do you have time for a story?” the man asked me.

Of course I had time for a story. I always have time for a story. Stories are the rich gravy on life’s mashed potatoes. The man told me that the breeder of the Wolfhounds was highly sought after, worldwide. He said the breeder always had more demand than supply and was extremely choosy over to whom she sold her dogs. The man went on to tell me about one particular application that was initially denied, as both potential owners worked full time.

“The breed needs a lot of social interaction with their family. They don’t do well being left alone for hours at a time”, he explained.

The breeder had called the woman in question, explaining why she would not sell any dogs to her.

“Oh, but I work from my home!” the potential owner clarified. The breeder asked her what she did and was told that the woman was an author. 

The breeder agreed to sell the woman two dogs if the woman agreed to work the Wolfhounds into one of her books. Hence, the Harry Potter series features Wolfhounds in its books, as the woman in question, initially denied purchase, was J.K. Rowling! Bess and Bunt were from the same bloodline!   I was just absolutely amazed, and felt so lucky and enriched from this encounter.

Always take the time for a story, and when you have the opportunity, share that story with others.

The morning started like any other- up at 5 a.m., out the door by 5:30 to take my daughter, Channing, to basketball practice. Back home shortly later, my husband Steve and I proceeded to get ready for work when my phone rang at 6:45. It was Channing's number, but her coach was on the line:  "Channing fell. Her patella (knee cap) is completely out. Should we call an ambulance?"

"No," I replied. "We're on our way."

When things like this happen, I go into an overly calm mode.  I have two children who are heavily involved in sports, so experience has taught me that freaking out holds no constructive purpose. We rushed to the school where Channing lay on the gym floor, clearly in pain but calm as well. My husband is a physician, and he easily popped her patella back into its socket. We took Channing to our clinic to X-ray her knee.

Channing underwent a patella repair almost two years ago, and X-ray results revealed she had again detached her patella. A second surgery was imminent. She was done with basketball for the season and would miss the entire spring season of softball as well. We were all pretty upset, but again, I displayed no visible reaction. 

People sometimes perceive that I'm not reacting because I'm in denial or maybe I don't care. Neither is the case. In life, there will be bumps in the road - some bigger than others, but there will be unavoidable bumps.  Bumps in the road are an important part of learning and growing. Getting caught up in the mindset of "Why me?" or "What else?" are stagnant pitfalls that will skew your vision of life. They leave a person feeling angry, negative, and fearful. When a bump is hit, it is far more constructive to examine the situation. Asking yourself questions such as, "What am I supposed to learn from this?" can help you make better decisions in the future. We become more self-aware and stronger individuals. Sometimes we can't find an answer, because sometimes, things happen for no apparent or explicable reason. This too is a part of life.

Life is meant for us to live. Life wants us to take risks, embrace our passions and venture outside of our comfort zones. My kids love sports. We love sports. We are passionate about it all. We were not put on this earth to cower in fear, shrouded in uncertainty, immobilized by real or imagined dangers. We were put on this earth to live life to its fullest. There will always be that margin of error, the unknown where something bad can happen. There will always be bumps. 

She caught my eye as I was finishing up the discharge paperwork for Nico and making a down payment for Pistol, the puppy I had gotten as a Christmas gift for one of my many “children," the ones who didn’t have a good support system in place, who had come to rely on me as their “mom.”

She caught my eye because, even though I was stressed, distracted, overwhelmed with worry and, I'm sorry, also the cost of dealing with a Parvovirus infected puppy all weekend, she generated warmth and positivity as she breezed through the door of the vet. That, and the puppy she had with her- a light brown lab mix with amber eyes- generated that same warmth, that same positive and loving energy.

As the woman explained to the vet tech she was new to the area and that her dog appeared to have an eye infection, I really truly tried not to eavesdrop. But something intrigued me and drew me in. As I tried not to listen, I invariably heard that the woman lived in a local shelter. The puppy was a rescue and currently living with the woman's father while the woman was trying to get on her feet. As she talked, the bright-eyed, cheery woman interacted with her equally bright-eyed, cheery puppy. It was easy to get caught up in the display of unconditional love.

The tech remained formal and impersonal, and I understand why. I understand although I don't necessarily agree or accept. The tech informed the woman that there was a fee to be seen. She said it unwaveringly, and I guess I admire that....in a strange way. Again, I understand policies and regulations. Again, that doesn't mean I agree or accept that. The woman, still positive and cheerful, expressed her understanding, took the dog, and headed out the door. But I saw something break in her face. We all have our breaking point. Was I witnessing hers? Up to that point, I had resolved to NOT get involved. I had felt myself getting drawn in and made a conscious decision to STOP. I had already spent all weekend and more than a small amount of money to save one life....... wasn't that enough?

I walked out to my car, with the woman and dog right behind me. I opened my car door, started to get in......and stopped. I walked back over to her car where she was loading up the puppy and said, "Can I help?" She said, "I don't have any money. I'm living in a shelter... I don't have much right now." Her face shifted from the glowing positivity I had witnessed earlier to shame. "Come on!" I said. "Your puppy needs medical attention!" Tears streamed down her face and mine, too. What we shared, briefly, at that moment, was not a sense of being rescued, of heroism, but more a sense of compassion. Human to human to animals that we love and fiercely protect.

I don't know her name or the name of her puppy. But I know their hearts. I know that I met a woman who had little and was struggling, but who still cared about the well-being of a sick, vulnerable animal. That is selflessness. I know that I met a puppy who knew her heart, too, and knew she would do whatever it took to make it all better. That is trust. I know we were put here to help each other out and that spending or not spending money will never be more important than the intrinsic value of life.

Oct. 26, 2005.

My son Zachary, then 8, had a football game that night. It was a fairly late game, but when we got home that evening, there was a message on our home voice mail from my dad,

"Rebecca, please call me when you get home tonight, no matter what time it is."

My dad had not been feeling well most of the summer and into the fall. My parents had decided not to come through Texas from Minnesota via their annual winter trip to Florida that fall, even though my dad was supposed to drive the tractor for our neighbor fall festival hayride.  Though my dad's doctors felt he was just having a hard time fighting off a flu virus, they ultimately decided to send him to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester to run more in-depth tests. 

"Go somewhere away from the children," my dad said first, and then, "How strong are you, Rebecca Jean?"

He knew the answer to that, of course. I had always been his strong, independent, fearless tomboy who was going to conquer the world. My dad proceeded to tell me he had been diagnosed with a rare and terminal form of cancer, that there was no treatment, and that he had just months to live. I could hear loud weeping in the background as I held the phone in disbelief. My dad? My hunting, fishing, life-loving dad?  My dad, who never drank, never smoked, and went on Jesuit retreats every summer to "sort out any junk I've accumulated over the year," who always came home and said, "I'm so clean, you can see right through me!" 

With no visible emotion, I hung up the phone and went back inside the house. Steve looked at me questioningly and I only shook my head and said, "Time for baths, everyone!" I had a family to run. Breaking down simply wasn't an option. My kids were too little to understand, and they needed me to maintain normalcy.  So I did. 

My daughter, Channing, was 5 at the time. Christmas was approaching, and I was trying to keep our lives running smoothly in between my many trips back and forth between Texas and Minnesota. Run my nuclear family here. Run my family of origin there. Stay calm. Keep it together.  Everyone needed me.  As we got closer to Christmas, Channing became more and more adamant that she wanted a puppy for Christmas. As we had recently lost both of our elderly dogs within months of each other, Steve and I were strongly against this. With the strain of my dad's illness, we did not need a new puppy! But Channing remained insistent.

"I really don't care what y'all say," she told us matter of factly. "I am asking Santa for a puppy for Christmas, and all I want is a puppy.  Nothing else. I've been good, so Santa will bring me a puppy!"

Finally, at the beginning of December, I told Steve, "She's not going to give up! We need to find her a puppy!" We had two large, intolerant cats at the time. I knew we needed to bring a small dog into our life, nothing big and wild, because the cats would potentially develop behavior problems. I began to research and came upon a poodle breeder in Northeast Texas. After many emails and phone calls, we met at a designated halfway point so I could see the puppies, tiny toy poodles, for myself. I immediately fell in love with one, and the breeder agreed I could pick him up Dec. 23, in time for Channing's Christmas surprise.

That Christmas was the first since I had children that my parents didn't come spend it with us. My dad was too sick. Everyone felt the void, but I still tried to make it as happy as possible. And the thought of Channing's reaction to her new puppy from Santa kept my spirits up. I wasn't disappointed. I had snuck down to our neighbor's home early that morning and retrieved the puppy. As if on cue, he came out of his little hut as Channing approached the tree. Estactically, she exclaimed, "My puppy! Santa got me a puppy!"  And so Nico entered our lives, a bright sparkle during a time of sadness.

After the holidays, I took Nico in for his shots and well-puppy exam.  "Did you bring his shot records and birth certificate?" our vet asked me.  I pulled out the papers and looked at them for the first time. Date of Birth: 10-26-2005.  I felt an odd sensation in my stomach- why did that date bother me? Then it hit me: October 26th was the day I got that horrible call from my father. Just when a part of my life was ending, a part was simultaneously beginning. I didn't know it at the time, wasn't even imagining that a new little life was entering the world, a little life who would provide so much love, companionship abd comfort through many dark days as my dad battled cancer and ultimately lost the following spring.

Obviously, a dog doesn't replace a beloved person. But there were so many times where I needed to not have to act okay for everyone around me, to not have to explain what I was feeling, and Nico provided that reprieve for me.He was clearly meant to come into our lives. Nico, now 8 years old, is a cherished family member who none of us could even dream of not being an integral part of our lives.   

Life is full of endings, but it's also bursting with beginnings. Always trust, as I've learned from my own life experiences, that promise and hope will be provided to you - sometimes in the oddest and most unexpected forms, such as a 4-legged angel.  

This time of year is magical. It is hard not to get caught up in the decorations, lights and music. It is especially magical if you have children in your life - it’s like adding sprinkles on an already delicious, gooey, chocolate cupcake spread thick with fudge frosting. The sparkling look on a child’s face will melt even the Grinchiest of hearts.

My now nearly 17-year-old son asked me recently, “Mom, when are you going to write about me?” I was caught off-guard, because I hadn’t realized he was paying attention or cared. “My next blog, Zachary.  Any thoughts? Something reflective of the season and funny." A thoughtful look drifted across his face, and he slowly smiled. “Santa and the fire truck!” he said, and we both laughed.

When Zachary was 3 and his sister was just a new baby, we decided to take them to the Killeen Mall for the arrival of Santa Claus, in all his glory, on a fire truck! With hundreds of other families, we waited outside the mall entrance for the big event. All of a sudden, we heard the pressing wail of the siren. It grew louder and louder as Zachary’s eyes grew wider and wider. We watched him carefully for his reaction. Would he be excited? Terrified? What we saw was……nothing. His little face held no expression. What was going on in that young brain? 

“Do you want to go in and sit on Santa’s lap," we asked him. Santa dismounted, boisterously exclaimed "Ho Ho Ho," greeted nearby patrons and sashayed into the mall. “I no……yes." This was the way Zachary talked at that age; everything was prefaced with the infamous “I no” aka “I don’t know." Typical 3-year-old cuteness that they later wish you’d just stop bringing up! 

The actual lap-sitting and gift-requesting were fairly uneventful. Channing, my daughter, was for the most part oblivious at 5 months old. Zachary sat nicely, smiled widely for the picture, and we left. My husband Steve and I eyed each other on the way home as Zachary remained silent in the back seat. “Do you think that was all too much?” I asked Steve, under my breath. “I don’t know….he’s so quiet!” Steve replied. Nothing else was mentioned about it for the remainder of the night.

The next morning, Zachary got up and we launched our usual morning exchange:

 “Good morning, Zachary!”

 “Hi, Mama.” 

“How are you today?” 

“I no…….good.”

“How did you sleep?”

“I no…..good.”

And then……….

“What did you dream about?”

“I no…….Santa and the fire truck.” (Except, it was “pire" not "fire.")

“Was it a good dream, Zachary?”

“I no…….”  And that was it.

 And so, our once normal morning exchange took on a new twist. For nearly a year, every single morning, we had this exact exchange. I asked Steve, “Do you really think he’s dreaming about that every night? Is that even healthy?” Finally, as Zachary seemed so well-adjusted otherwise, we stopped trying to analyze it and, instead, it became a wonderful lighthearted start to every morning. 

Zachary has some memory of the actual events, and now, he views it as a funny story about himself as a child. I hold it as a fond memory, a cherished moment that reflects the Christmas season. Children see the world with an untarnished heart, in a way that many of us adults lose. There is nothing more precious than being able and willing to see through a child’s eyes - the innocence, clarity and simplicity are priceless.

This Christmas season, open your eyes in a childlike way. Open your heart. See. Believe. 

Pets have always been a big part of our lives. They are not just animals to us; they are family members. Studies have clearly shown that being a pet owner is good for both physical and emotional health; therefore, sharing vignettes about our own pets seems to be a natural inclusion in Sunny Side Up.

As Trinket currently holds seniority in the line-up of our family pets, I’ll start with her. She is an 8 year-old Seal Point Birman - a purebred cat with the most beautiful blue eyes and markings. She joined our family  after we suffered a series of losses of shelter cats. It was highly coincidental, but being very emotional about it all, we decided, as a family, to get a pedigreed cat.

After extensive research, we agreed on the breed and identified a woman in South Texas who raised Seal Point Birmans. My friend Jennifer and I ventured off one morning after getting the kids to school.

The entire trip, she asked repeatedly, “Why exactly are we driving three hours to get a cat when you can get dozens for free at the shelter just down the road?”

“You’ll see!” I’d answer,ed over and over again.

We drove deep into the country down endless winding roads filled with potholes. We both had no idea where we were, and at that point, even I questioned why we were on this crazy mission for a cat. We finally found the woman’s home; as we drove up, dozens, if not hundreds, of stray cats raced toward our car.  Jennifer shot me a, “See?!?! Crazy Lady!!!” look. At that moment, I had to agree.  

“We’ve  come this far…..let’s at least talk to the breeder,” I said with resignation. An older, casually dressed woman opened the door of the trailer. It was spotless inside - no sign or smell of any type of animal. As we stood there, four tiny balls of white fur with sparkling blue eyes sprang up around the woman’s feet.

“Awww!!!” Jennifer and I both squealed in delight. The woman explained that the cats she bred and sold were strictly kept in the house, but she didn’t have the heart to turn away all the strays that  seemed to endlessly show up outside. 

We played with the kittens, chose one - a female, and headed home.  Jennifer and I both fell in love on that trip home. My husband, always the one who names our pets,  immediately said, “Her name is Trinket!” when he walked through the door and saw the angelic ball of fur. She was so sweet and cuddly, and absolutely the most gorgeous cat we’d ever seen. 

However, we quickly learned Trinket either viewed herself as being far superior to the rest of the family … or she was more dumb than a box of rocks.  The saying “With a blank expression on her face” was uttered by every person in our family at least once a day when referring to Trinket.  “Where is Trinket?” “Staring at the rug…..with a blank expression on her face.” “What did Trinket do today?” “Laid on the cat tower…..with a blank expression on her face."   Trinket liked to sleep on my son’s bed…but when I changed the bedding, she would walk in, stare at the bed, sit there for awhile (with a blank expression on her face), and then leave as if she didn’t know where she was or why she had gone back there in the first place. The same reaction occurred if we moved anything in the house, and we quickly learned not to move anything of hers.  We eventually leaned more toward the latter of our thoughts about her … that she was in fact a simple cat -  a cat of little brain. 

Did that change our love for her or her importance in our family system? Not in the least! We love and accept her for who she is; her “blank expressions” and very “blonde” behavior provides many a laugh for our family and friends. Just this morning, I was doing housework and opened a few doors to air out our home. Trinket, curious, wandered out and immediately got lost (although she was only around the corner of the house, she had no idea how she had gotten there or how to get back). One of the dogs, her loyal and protective big brother, retrieved her and guided her back in. She then went and stretched out by the chair where I lay my husband’s  clothes every morning, so she’d be ready to rub on his legs and meow loudly for attention while he got ready for work.

Pets display a level of unconditional, nonjudgmental love and devotion that absolutely brightens anybody’s spirit.  They have a way of jolting us out of any dark places we may have wandered to in our hearts and shining a beam of hopeful light in our direction, beckoning us back into a happier, healthier place. They lighten us and keep us balanced. The cat of little brain is a gleaming example.

I never was a big sports person growing up - not to play or to watch.  My husband, on the other hand, was an All American, lettered athlete in football, baseball and track. So, it was only natural that he’d want his children to be athletes. I’ve grown to respect and appreciate their various sporting activities - some more than others - but because I love and support them, I will always be there to cheer them on whenever possible. 

Now, where softball is concerned, I’ve grown to be a real junkie. My daughter, after trying dance, then cheer, then soccer, stumbled into the game of softball at age 7. We all knew it was true love. Her knack for the game was uncanny, and none of us ever imagined how truly exciting it could be.

This past summer, The CenTex Edge, our select softball team, had the opportunity to play in the World Series at Disney’s ESPN center in Florida. I cannot even begin to describe how overwhelming it was to see our girls - just a little pipsqueak team out of Central Texas - march out onto the fields with thousands of other girls during opening ceremonies. It was surreal to say the least. Teams from the United States, Canada, Mexico and even Puerto Rico had come out to compete for the championship title. Most were from huge, well-known, well-funded organizations, as opposed to us - a group of small town locals who just wanted their daughters to develop some skill and love for the game. We were there for the experience and had no expectation of winning.

Did our girls see it that way? Not in the least.  They were there to play!  Not only were they there to play, they were there to win!  They didn’t care that most of the girls were not only physically larger than they were, but also that they were “Big Names”- nationally known and sponsored organizations. Their competitors were giants in the world of Fastpitch Softball. During a week-long tournament, The Centex Edge fell into the Loser’s Bracket after a terrible call on a tied game.  That was on a Tuesday; the championship game wasn’t until that Saturday. To get there, our girls would have to play at least twice as many games as the teams who stayed in the winner’s bracket. 

My husband has always said that the measure of a champion’s true character is by what she does when she is at the bottom.  Playing back to back games all through Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, well after midnight, our girls proved that statement to be true. I stood for hours and hours watching them, clapping, cheering, “You can do it!  I believe in you!”  In the text exchanges with my husband, he repeatedly wrote with incredulous pride, “Our girls are giant killers!!!”

At 6:45 on Saturday morning, they were back on the fields, ready to defeat the team that had put them in the loser’s bracket to begin with.   The game ran over two hours, with a neck to neck tied score and two extra overtime innings. But they were bound and determined to win ... and win they did. They immediately had to turn around and play in the game for third place- the game before the championship game that was to be televised on ESPN! 

I don’t even know how to put into words the emotions that were whirling in me at that point. On top of sheer exhaustion was searing adrenaline. They started off that game behind 7-0, and I thought, “They’re out of gas. They can’t fight anymore.” I had to go charge my phone (I was tasked with keeping everyone at home up-to-date on their progress), and when I came back just a few minutes later, the score was 7-7.  How were they doing it?  Again, the game went into overtime...7-7….. 8-8……9-9…..  Until finally, the opposing team scored, won the game and advanced to the championship game that moments before was cupped in our own hands. 

We all cried- not just for the loss, but for the mounting emotion of the entire week.  In our post game huddle, no words were uttered at first. Finally, I spoke.

“You know what? What you all did this week……it’s just plain amazing. You fought back from the bottom of the pile. You never gave up. You took absolutely everything in your heart and in your soul and you LEFT it on those fields. If you approach life this way, you will all be successful in whatever you choose to do. To me, you are all true champions”. 

Being a true champion is just that - it’s not necessarily about getting first place, the biggest trophy or a moment of fame. It’s about envisioning your goals and believing you can reach them. It’s about reaching deep within yourself and fully utilizing all your talents, your skills, your knowledge without reservation or fear. It’s a choice our little girls grasped and held on to fiercely.

It’s a choice……any of us can make.