My Champion, Cindy
It’s 1989 and racquetball is THE sport to play.
Cindy Richards has joined a local racquetball association tournament, and her presence is causing quite the stir. Because you see, the reputation for Cindy’s skill is so well known that the officials have agreed to let her play in the Men's bracket.
The tournament is set to play several games throughout the day. Cindy starts at the bottom and plays her way through the ranks – easily making it to the final round.
Right before starting the final game, the other finalist looks up and notices Cindy’s gender. He scoffs and stomps over to the officials. In a voice loud enough to carry through the whole building he says, “I can’t believe you’re making me play a girl for the finals!”
The officials lean back and cross their arms, obviously unimpressed with the tantrum. The finalist’s wife looks like she’s hoping her seat will swallow her whole and save her from her embarrassment.
Cindy takes his huffing and puffing in stride and responds with a simple yet knowing smile.
The game begins, and thwack. Cindy smashes the ball, gets a point, and immediately gets the attention of her opponent. Cindy’s points continue to climb. She’s not only playing well…she’s playing joyfully! She’s even complimenting her opponent on the moves he’s doing well. And this just irks him even more.
Cindy wins the Men’s Tournament finals by beating her opponent with more than triple his score.
After the game, a small child runs up to Cindy, hugs her legs and joyfully cheers, “Good job, mom! That was fun to watch!”
The wife of the opponent sees this interaction and her jaw drops, “Wait, you’re a mother too! Stay here just for a minute…” and she rushes away to rub more salt into the wound of her freshly humbled husband.
Cindy smiles down at her daughter, pulls her shirt taut against swollen belly, and raises a finger to her lips. Not only was Cindy a mother, but she had also just won the men’s tournament while pregnant with her 5th baby.
Cindy was my mom. And Cindy was a champion.
I started my TEDx talk by sharing a time I was asked to describe my mom in one word. I don’t give context in the talk, but that “one time” was her funeral.
Shortly after my mother’s passing, my dad called me and my sisters together to give us an assignment. He started with, “Karl G. Maeser said, ‘Everyone’s life is an object lesson.’ I want you to think of a value that mom embodied and then use stories from her life to teach those who attend the funeral about that value.”
My sisters and I broke away to work on our assignments separately.
On the day of the funeral, we each got up to share our value. Without coordinating ahead of time, the value for all 5 of us was the same. My mom was a champion.
But what is a champion?
My sisters and I had chosen the same theme, but the stories we shared to represent that varied wildly. We had everything from her national collegiate racquetball championship, to the governor’s community service award (a fancy silver bowl that anyone else would have put in a display case and we literally used as a fruit bowl for several years), to how she showed up as a mother – and not just for her own children but for anyone in our circle who needed to feel seen and advocated for. Our favorite story was when she chose to call us out for watching too much TV by unplugging the TV, walking it to the stairs of our unfinished basement, and dropping it down those stairs…
She was fierce AND kind. She was bold AND soft. She was powerful AND imperfect. She was aspirational AND oh, so very human. She was my favorite paradox.
She showed me that champions don’t always get it right, but they do stay in the game. And to do so, they consistently check in and learn to recalibrate.
You see, champions aren't just those who win. Champions are built in the moments when they show up as their best – no matter the outcome.
Thanks for reading with me today. I hope you find a moment to thank a champion in your world this week.
