Mom Was The Master Motivator Of My Life
Last week there was a request sent out for blogs about Mom this week. For those of you still unaware, Mother’s Day is Sunday-consider this your reminder to get on it, Sparky. Writing about my mom is not an easy thing to do as there’s so much to say. She is, and our relationship is, remarkably deep and complex-and not in a bad way at all. So rather than trying to explain all of it to you today, I want to share with you one story. It’s one that I’ve told many times in speeches and I consider it the single most defining moment of my life.
As a boy I was deeply in love with the game of basketball. Our driveway had a huge slant and opened up to the neighborhood’s main road, so putting a goal on the roof of the garage was a no-go. Solution? Dad put one in the back yard. Before long, not only had I worn all his grass down to the dirt but had convinced him to put lights out there so I could practice once the sun went down. At this point, I need to acknowledge our neighbors-God bless them. The soundtrack of their homelife in the 1980s was a ball being pounded on the ground at all hours and it had to make them crazy.
Anyway, there wasn’t a time I loved shooting hoops in the backyard more than crisp, fall nights (well, as “crisp” as a Texas fall night gets). I was ten years old on this particular Friday night. I had decided I’d rather practice in the backyard than go to our high school’s football game. And I was in heaven. The sky was clear and full of stars, and I was lost in my obsession of watching that ball go from my fingertips to the bottom of the net. After a couple of hours, I was getting tired, it was getting late, and it was time to go inside. However, I always finished off every practice session by shooting ten free throws. My mom knew this.
As I ran in the door, I flipped off the outdoor lights, and headed for the stairs (and a much-needed shower). Then, my feet hit the second step, and I heard Mom ask, “How many did you make?” She was referring to the free throws.
“Seven out of ten,” I replied as my feet made it halfway to the upstairs.
“I wonder if there’s a boy out there tonight who made eight?”
And there it was. I came to a dead halt-a mere two steps from the top as I contemplated what I’ve come to realize was the determining decision of my existence. It would have been very easy for me to act like I didn’t hear her. It would have been very easy for me to head to the shower satisfied that 70% from the foul line is “good enough.” BUT…those two words didn’t cut it my mother’s house. I was raised to believe that when you gave your absolute best effort, mediocrity or “good enough” wasn’t just not an option, but an impossibility. And you ALWAYS gave your best effort. Mom also knew that my competitive nature alone wasn’t going to allow me to ignore her query.
Not a word was said between the two of us. I turned and ran back down the stairs, flipped on the outdoor lights and headed back to my basketball workshop. Ten more free throws. I made nine.
I have spent my entire life competing. I’ve competed against rivals I could tangibly see, and those that I could not. In all facets of my life, I have operated under the notion that there may be someone out there who has more talent for what I’m doing, but there’s no way he/she is going to win by outworking me. Consequently, I have always been drawn to others with this same belief.
Take a look around at the most successful people you know. Here is a universal quality each one has: he/she HATES TO LOSE MORE THAN LOVES TO WIN. These people embrace “the grind” daily, and they celebrate rarely (and only briefly when they do). “Good enough” is never that for these people. Mediocrity to them is a pandemic to be avoided at all costs. This philosophy continues to serve me and my family well to this day. And I have my mom to thank for it. And so much more.
Happy Mother’s Day to my mom and all mothers everywhere who are doing all they can to help their kids define their lives in the best and most positive ways.
