The roar of the crowd at Wimbledon Stadium as Serena won the finals match pulled me back from my thoughts of the past. The cheers pulled me back from Shreveport, back from the cotton fields where my mother toiled in near slavery, back from the fear and danger I had lived with every day as a child. It pulled me back seventy years. I was standing at the end of my journey. What is it like when your plans succeed? There is pride beyond measure. Could I count my blessings? There were so many, I was almost overcome. Watching Serena receive the winner’s trophy, tears coursed freely down my cheeks and I didn’t care who saw them.
Being a champion starts with a dream, and the dedication and commitment to make that dream come true. A champion is a dream catcher. She catches her dream by any means necessary and follows it through. There are people who will support and believe in her. There are people who will discourage and criticize her. Either way, she has the strength to sustain her battle.
A champion is a true warrior, one so driven by determination that she will stop at nothing to make it to the top. I had seen my daughters’ eyes fill with fury as they eyed opponents, anticipating war. A champion is confident she will be the victor. She is completely focused on the prize, and no matter how tough the challenge, she will rise to it. She rises to every occasion with the grace and poise of a queen.
What had I taught my children? That a true champion treasures her unique gift, whatever it is that has been bestowed upon her by God. She treasures her hard work and sacrifice. A champion does not understand the concept of being mediocre or second best. She treasures life and lives it abundantly, to the fullest, aware that life is a precious gift and victory is sweet beyond measure.
Had I succeeded? Had I made up for my father’s lack of love and protection for me by loving and protecting my own family? I hoped so. Had I justified all the work and effort in the plan I wrote so many years ago? Three generations told me I had. When Serena sprinted up to the family box and I held her in my arms, I could feel the powerful current of strength and purpose and dignity that flowed from my beloved mother, through my dedicated former wife, to my amazing daughters.
“I thank Jehovah for letting me get this far,” Serena said as she held the winner’s trophy high. “I almost didn’t make it. A few years ago, you know I was in the hospital. But now I’m here again and it’s so worth it and I’m so happy. I never dreamt of being here again, being so down, but never give up and you can continue. Thank you, guys in the box over there, Daddy, Mom, Sasha, Esther . . .”
I put my hand on Venus’s back next to me, and I felt her laugh and smile when the presenter congratulated Serena on how she had as many Wimbledon trophies as Venus did. Serena smiled broadly. “I’ve always wanted everything that Venus had.”
The scene below wavered for a moment through my tears. I couldn’t see through the lens of my camera. I heard the voices of my daughters all around me, and our family and friends, and the crowd around them, and I felt the fullness of my life. In a special way, I felt real gratitude for all I had. I do not know what prompted it—the girls’ tennis victories had always brought out such complex emotions in me that I often hated to watch them play—but that day I found a peace and happiness I had known only a few times before in my life.
What greater value could there be than in finding peace if you’ve never had it? We search for so many things. When you have peace, you have a serenity about yourself. You’re happy with what you do, what you say, the way you look, the way you conduct yourself. You don’t have to have the best or the most expensive things. Whatever you have is exactly what you want.
I shook my head and wiped my eyes. It was amazing. All the things I went through and I was still alive. My life could’ve ended at any time. There were a lot of close calls. Still, for all the wounds, I could walk on my own. For all the insults, I could breathe on my own. I could sit on my tractor on my land and cut my grass as I wished, and no man could tell me different. This was peace, and on this day I could have lain down and died and been happy.
Sitting there, I saw things as I had never seen them before. Seventy years. It was a big life. I felt my heart beat stronger and my chest expand and I wanted to thank all the white people for making me such a strong person. If it wasn’t for the life they made me live, I wouldn’t have become so tough. I wanted to thank the black people, too, for what they had taught me and how they had helped and even for those who had hurt me. I wanted to thank every person, black and white, for all that they had added to my life. I was the product of each and every experience.
I am seventy years old now and I have a new wife and a new son. Most everyone I know has asked me if I am going to make him a tennis player like Venus and Serena. They want to know if I plan to raise the greatest male tennis player who ever lived. They ask me if I can do it again.
I tell them that is a foolish goal. What do I need with another tennis player? But I am old and crafty and just settling in to write my new plan—complete with directions if I don’t get to finish it.
He’s going to be a billionaire.
I still dream big.