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- Taking Risks May or May Not Pay Off – Part I
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- Taking Risks May or May Not Pay Off – Part I
Taking Risks May or May Not Pay Off – Part I
- By Stephen Hopson
- Published 07/28/2008
- Overcoming Adversity , Real Life Success
- Unrated
Stephen Hopson
A former award-winning Wall Street stockbroker turned speaker, author and the first deaf pilot in the world to earn an instrument rating; Stephen Hopson teaches others how to transform adversity into success. www.sjhopson.com and www.adversityuniversityblog.com
Back when I was in high school, my biggest passion was swimming. While I was not a “hot dog” (swimmers who consistently broke records), I did have a dream and that was to make the finals at the state championships in my last year.
Over a 4 year period, I worked my way up to Junior Varsity and finally Varsity. The swim team had done particularly well during my senior year, advancing all the way to the state championships.
I was thrilled when “Rabbit,” our coach, put me in for the 200 individual medley event (consisting of butterfly, backstroke, breaststroke and freestyle - in that order). We called coach “Rabbit” because he had two front teeth that was permanently puckered out of alignment.
On the day before the championships, I was watching the 1978 Olympics on television. As I was watching the men’s freestyle event, it slowly dawned on me that there was indeed a way to make the finals.
I noticed that all the guys were ... bald!
Bald?
In my last year of high school?
Right before the senior prom?
Yeah!
Before I could change my mind, I made a beeline to my parent’s bathroom and promptly locked the door. The last thing I wanted was for someone to barge their way in while I was doing the unthinkable. Rustling through the cabinet beneath the sink, I found what I was looking for.
Trembling with excitement, I put the small black case on the counter and gingerly opened it. It was the electric shaver my Mom used to cut my hair when I was a toddler. Before plugging it in, I opened the door and poked my head out to see if anyone was around. Seeing no one, I got right to work.
With the razor whirring to life, I held it beside my face and stared at the mirror.
It’s now or never.
Starting on the right side, I mowed in neat lines from front to back, watching clumps of beautiful teenage hair tumble to the floor. I was halfway through when I felt the pounding on the door.
My mom!
Stupidly I said, “Who is it?”
More pounding.
“Okay, okay, just a sec,” I said in exasperation.
I opened the door a crack and positioned my head in a way that only the side with remaining hair could be seen.
“Yeah, mom, what’s up?”
“What are you doing Stephen?” she asked.
“Um, not much, do you need to use the bathroom?”
“No, answer my question, what are you doing in there!!??”
No sense in hiding anymore. Taking a deep breath, I pulled the door wide open. She let out a loud gasp, covering her mouth in horror. Mom practically screamed, “Stephen, what in God’s name are you doing?”
“Ma, some of those guys in the Olympics shaved their heads so I want to do it too. I’m going to make the finals tomorrow.”
She looked me up and down like I was crazy, then her eyes spied the mess on the floor - it was beginning to resemble my father’s favorite barbershop. Letting out a loud sigh, shaking her head and pointing to the floor with her bony finger she said, “Make sure you clean up this mess.”
The cat was out of the bag. In no time the rest of my family will find out. Waving her off, I closed the door firmly and hurriedly finished the job. I lathered my head with shaving cream and carefully plowed off the last remnants of hair. Twenty minutes later, I was done ...
Is this how I’m going to look when I’m fifty?
It’s too late my boy, there’s no turning back!
If I’m going to shave my head, I might as well shave the rest of me!
Pssssss….more shaving cream.
When I went to bed later that night, I was in for a major shock - the sheets were ice cold! Where was the electric blanket when I needed it the most?
After tossing and turning for several minutes, I finally fell asleep.
Over a 4 year period, I worked my way up to Junior Varsity and finally Varsity. The swim team had done particularly well during my senior year, advancing all the way to the state championships.
I was thrilled when “Rabbit,” our coach, put me in for the 200 individual medley event (consisting of butterfly, backstroke, breaststroke and freestyle - in that order). We called coach “Rabbit” because he had two front teeth that was permanently puckered out of alignment.
On the day before the championships, I was watching the 1978 Olympics on television. As I was watching the men’s freestyle event, it slowly dawned on me that there was indeed a way to make the finals.
I noticed that all the guys were ... bald!
Bald?
In my last year of high school?
Right before the senior prom?
Yeah!
Before I could change my mind, I made a beeline to my parent’s bathroom and promptly locked the door. The last thing I wanted was for someone to barge their way in while I was doing the unthinkable. Rustling through the cabinet beneath the sink, I found what I was looking for.
Trembling with excitement, I put the small black case on the counter and gingerly opened it. It was the electric shaver my Mom used to cut my hair when I was a toddler. Before plugging it in, I opened the door and poked my head out to see if anyone was around. Seeing no one, I got right to work.
With the razor whirring to life, I held it beside my face and stared at the mirror.
It’s now or never.
Starting on the right side, I mowed in neat lines from front to back, watching clumps of beautiful teenage hair tumble to the floor. I was halfway through when I felt the pounding on the door.
My mom!
Stupidly I said, “Who is it?”
More pounding.
“Okay, okay, just a sec,” I said in exasperation.
I opened the door a crack and positioned my head in a way that only the side with remaining hair could be seen.
“Yeah, mom, what’s up?”
“What are you doing Stephen?” she asked.
“Um, not much, do you need to use the bathroom?”
“No, answer my question, what are you doing in there!!??”
No sense in hiding anymore. Taking a deep breath, I pulled the door wide open. She let out a loud gasp, covering her mouth in horror. Mom practically screamed, “Stephen, what in God’s name are you doing?”
“Ma, some of those guys in the Olympics shaved their heads so I want to do it too. I’m going to make the finals tomorrow.”
She looked me up and down like I was crazy, then her eyes spied the mess on the floor - it was beginning to resemble my father’s favorite barbershop. Letting out a loud sigh, shaking her head and pointing to the floor with her bony finger she said, “Make sure you clean up this mess.”
The cat was out of the bag. In no time the rest of my family will find out. Waving her off, I closed the door firmly and hurriedly finished the job. I lathered my head with shaving cream and carefully plowed off the last remnants of hair. Twenty minutes later, I was done ...
Is this how I’m going to look when I’m fifty?
It’s too late my boy, there’s no turning back!
If I’m going to shave my head, I might as well shave the rest of me!
Pssssss….more shaving cream.
When I went to bed later that night, I was in for a major shock - the sheets were ice cold! Where was the electric blanket when I needed it the most?
After tossing and turning for several minutes, I finally fell asleep.
