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Chapter I: Getting Here


Chapter I: Getting Here

It was a hot summer day and I had taken my seat on the aircraft and begun to anticipate our next destination on a flight wasn’t expected to be long. However, I knew during the flight I wanted to reflect on and assess the intense competition my comrades and I had just faced. So, as soon as I strapped myself in, I immediately closed my eyes to drift into deep thought and reflect on the tough opposition that had brought my team and me to this point. First, we faced what was viewed by everyone who laid eyes on these giants, as the greatest spectacle the world had seen. They were known simply as the ‘Redeem Team’. They were a group of elites assembled to erase any doubt that anyone might have had that they were superior at their craft. Subsequently I, being the floor general, was expected to take my team into battle and give them some form of hope that we could stand our ground against such an amazing force. I’ve learned, through my many different battles in life, not to fear any competition, and I had prepared and worked myself to be in the best shape humanly possible. Hence, facing these so-called giants was just another obstacle for me. Another hurdle I needed to get over to reach my destination; to be considered one of the best at what I do. In spite of my personal outlook on the group of elites, I could see the fear in some of their eyes as I looked at my team. Some I could tell were in awe at the mere presence of the phenomena’s. For me, it was my job to go to war as soon as I hit the battlefield…and so I did. My mind would often drift to the Biblical story of how the boy, David, defeated the giant, Goliath. Would it be written that I could possibly achieve as colossal a victory as David? Would my name be placed in history as the one who took down the unstoppable? Could we REALLY do this? No we couldn’t! The giants defeated us…and it wasn’t an easy task for them, because we refused to go down without a fight! We, as a unit, found no victory; therefore to me, there was no real comfort in knowing that I had given a valid effort to overthrow the unbeatable. I found no relief in losing a tough battle, but knew I had but a short time to dwell on the defeat. Lurking in the midst was another fierce competitor. One that wasn’t as powerful as our previous adversary, but potent just the same. Our next opposition was against China’s finest. We were to take our competitive edge to this group on their own soil. Fueled from the spoil that was handed to us previously, we were determined not to suffer another defeat. We bat-


Blessed Footsteps / Memoirs of JR Holden

tled in privacy where no wondering eyes could witness our victory or vanquish. We handily defeated our opponents, but it was a battle, nonetheless. I could see the positive effects of going against a force as powerful as the giants, and how it had strengthened our outfit. I felt as though we were ready. My recollection of previous events was abruptly interrupted when I noticed that we had landed, and it was time to exit the aircraft. The first thing I noticed getting off the plane, was the extreme heat that greeted me as soon as the doors were opened. It was a hot and muggy heat that one can only experience in the southern-most parts of the United States, at the height of summer; the type of heat and humidity that takes your breath away. After gathering my thoughts (and breath), I was further taken aback by what looked to be a sea of people. They were all dressed in uniforms of light blue tops; directing, escorting, assisting, and guiding any and everyone that didn’t have on the same color uniform. I was so amazed at this vast scale of organized chaos. The amount of energy and level of excitement that these people assisted us with was like nothing I’ve seen before. Everyone seeming to have a position and a role to play, and they were playing it with precision. After grabbing our belongings we then traveled to what looked to be some type of check point. We all had to get clearance and accreditations to travel any further. It was a VERY thorough procedure and once we all had been cleared we were put on another bus that was going to take us to our final destination. We didn’t travel far before we arrived at some towering brick structures. There had to be at least 150 of these buildings. One of the first things that caught my attention upon arrival was the flags; flags of every color you could imagine. Each of these flags represented some of the 203 countries that were there. I suddenly saw my flag…but I only noticed one of them. My eyes began to search feverishly looking for the placement of my other flag. I then asked why there wasn’t a flag representing my birthplace. And even though I initially wasn’t provided an explanation, I later found out that it wasn’t there due to safety reasons. No other explanation was provided. I was left highly disappointed. In any case, the flags signified where everyone was staying. So, for the protection and safety of my other family,


Chapter I: Getting Here

their place of dwelling had to be kept somewhat private. This fact left a funny feeling inside of me, but, I was here to do a job! Upon arrival at the building we were staying, I was ushered inside and quickly shown where I would be resting my head. I was made aware prior to our arrival that I would be sharing my quarters with someone else, and I had the liberty of choosing my roommate. His name was Victor and he was of mixed descent, being half African and half Russian. Victor spoke English quite well, and I was very comfortable sharing a room with him. Our living arrangement was designed with necessity in mind. It was also made to maximize its capacity, because there were twenty of us confined to each floor. When I opened the door to my room, I saw two twin beds, a cupboard that we were to share, a window, and a bathroom that would be used by me as well as 3 others. This was no luxury hotel by any stretch of the imagination, but it would suffice for my time here. I had seen and experienced much worse. As I began to look around the colorless room, I started to wonder…Where am I? WHAT am I doing HERE? And finally, WHO am I? I lay down on my bed hoping for a moment of clarity, when I hear a commotion in the distance. I walked to the window and I looked out over the large expanse below me. I saw a vast landscape that was being occupied by a massive amount of people. People were everywhere! People of all races, colors, ethnicities, sizes and shapes were walking around feverishly, as if they had somewhere important to be. It was at that point I remembered where I was and what my purpose for being here was. I was in Beijing, China…at the 2008 Summer Olympics. I remembered why I was here…to lead my team, the Russian Men’s National Basketball Team, to win a medal in Men’s Basketball in front of the entire world! And I also remembered who I am… I am a proud black AMERICAN! So how did my life travels bring me to Beijing, China? Well to get there, you have to start at the beginning. And although everyone has a beginning, I was made aware from early on that I was here with a purpose. I was born August 10, 1976 and weighed in at 7lbs. /15oz. I was born in St. Francis Hospital in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, to proud parents Regelia and Robert Holden. My mom says that my name, Jon-Robert, came from my older brother, Warren, and my father. My dad wanted me to be a ‘junior’ but


Blessed Footsteps / Memoirs of JR Holden

my mom wanted my brother and I to be close and connected, since we had different fathers. Warren’s middle name is Jon and since my dad’s first name is Robert, my dad decided to take my brother’s middle name and his first name and make them my whole first name. Thus, Jon-Robert was born! I don’t have a middle name, even though most people think my first name is Jon and my middle name is Robert. That is not the case. My birth name had little bearing on me growing up and that was mainly in part because everyone knew and called me by my nickname. Until my freshman year in college, almost everyone in my neighborhood knew me by it. No one even knew what my real name was. I guess because I came out of the womb with everyone calling me ‘Booper’, it just stuck! I got my nickname while my mom was pregnant with me and my twin cousins, Marcia and Margarite, are responsible for it. The day before my mom went into the hospital to have me, the twins asked if they could give me a nickname. They wrote down 25 names that they liked and put them in a bag. Once at the hospital, all the family and closest friends added their nickname ideas to the bag as well. Anyway, in the morning one of the twins picked a name out of the bag and it was one of their names, ‘Booper’. She put the name back in the bag and that afternoon the other twin picked a name out of the bag. Lo and behold, it was the same name. So, Booper was the nickname of choice. Obviously, this pleased Marcia and Margarite to no end. In fact, they still remind me of this story to this day! AND…the nickname has stuck with me! So there I was, brought into this world by two loving parents, an older brother to protect me, and soon followed by a younger sister for me to protect as well. I guess you can say I was dealt the upper hand in life; being born into such a loving family. In my early years, I don’t remember much, but I do recall spending a lot of time with my father. I was without a doubt, a daddy’s boy. I was connected to my dad’s hip. I was his little man. My dad would be playing cards with his friends & drinking & just enjoying a Saturday night with his buddy’s and I would be right in his lap. He would be watching a Pittsburgh Steelers’ football game on a Sunday afternoon and I would be right


Chapter I: Getting Here

beside him. I never left my father’s side as a young buck. I did everything he did. I wanted to be just like him. I guess it was destined because I am a lot like him to this day. My parents were separated by the time I was 7 years old, but their separation never had a negative effect on me. My father made sure of that. Even though he didn’t live with us, he was around all the time. He was there whenever the family needed him. My dad is a great father, provider and everything a son could ask for. I don’t know how he was as a husband to my mom, but as a father, he was second to none. If my dad was the quiet, reserved, introverted one, my mom was the exact opposite, always the life of the party. My mom has always been upbeat, energetic and full of life and love. She always pushed me to try things and to be the best I could be. She would attend everything I participated in. She would show up at my elementary school waiving and shouting how proud she was of me, even if I just received the smallest award. It could be perfect attendance in kindergarten, and my mom would celebrate like I had just won the noble prize. She loved her youngest son with all she had in her heart. She adored all of her children and even showed a great deal of love to other people’s children as well. Later in life, my mom would show this to me in a big way, when she would take in my best friend and allow him to live with us and become a part of our family, when his family situation would fall apart. My mom has always had a big heart, full of life and love, and is that same upbeat kind-hearted person to this day. My sister Robyn and I were like frick and frack growing up. Robyn is two years younger than I am and being that we are so close in age, we had a very tight relationship and still do to this day. I always played sports and she was always a cheerleader, so we were always in close proximity. I remember one day when I was 9 or 10 years old, Robyn and I were racing down the street. She was fast like me, so I had to really run to beat her. Anyway, while running, Robyn tripped and fell hard to the pavement. She skinned up her knees and face a little bit. I remember being so scared because I was afraid she was seriously hurt. I picked her up while she was crying and I started crying with her. I wasn’t hurt, but she was, so I figured we should both be crying. She was my sister but she was


Blessed Footsteps / Memoirs of JR Holden

also my best friend, and that is what best friends do, cry for each other. She got up and we walked home with me trying to carry her, both of us in tears. This was just one of many moments and times that we were like one. We were thick as thieves. Our relationship has always been that way. We are still the same to this day. Our love and bond are just that strong. My brother, Warren, was the oldest of the siblings. He was 7 years older than me, so I couldn’t really hang out with him or his friends until I got older. I remember him trying to show me different things when I was 10 or 11 years old. He would show me how to fight, how to play sports, and most importantly how to beat my friends in Nintendo video games. I’m talking a time when video games were made for kids! You didn’t need an associate’s degree to play the games. And as kids, we didn’t care how real the players looked, your goal, if you were playing football, was to get Bo Jackson or Walter Payton to the top of the screen…and it was TOUCHDOWN! We really only played sports games on Nintendo. We had two favorite games: Double Dribble, a basketball game and Tecmo Bowl, a football game. My brother would kick my butt in the video games and frustrate me so badly. He would just keep beating me and beating me until I would almost be in tears. Even at 10 years old, I hated to lose and would try and learn tendencies and what buttons he was hitting in order to make certain plays to win the games. In retrospect, by him demoralizing me in video games, he helped me dominate my friends in the same games. I would use my brother’s team and try to do all the things he did to me, to my friends. My friends and I would stay in the house for hours playing video games. Then I would wait for my brother to get home so I could try and beat him. Most nights he would laugh and say he wasn’t going to play me. Then other times he would say, “You gotta do the dishes if I win, wash my car if I win, or make me a sandwich if I win this game”. I didn’t care what I had to do if I lost, I just wanted the opportunity to play and beat my older brother. He would beat me every time…until it happened; the day that all younger brothers dream of. I still remember how crazy I went the first time I beat him in Tecmo Bowl. I can remember it like it was yesterday. We were playing, he was the San Francisco 49ers and I was the Chicago Bears. I was


Chapter I: Getting Here

playing him tough, but he was winning, so he was just being his normal cool self. Then the phone rang. Uh oh, could this be the help I needed, a little distraction? He started talking on the phone and slowly but surely I started to come back and take control of the game. He was paying attention but not 100%. I started yelling every time my team made a play. I was getting excited and I felt the tide turning for my team. He was starting to get a little agitated but he stayed on the phone, playing it cool. At age 17, guys have to be cool when talking to girls on the phone, so obviously Warren had to keep his composure given that it was a girl on the other end of his phone call. Now me on the other hand at age 10, I wasn’t cool yet or really into girls so to me this was like a gift from the video gods! All of a sudden, he was off the phone and into the game. He was on edge and it was starting to look like I was going to pull off the upset. He made a stupid mistake trying to make a big play really fast. I then had total control of my destiny, defeating my big brother for the first time. I was jumping up and down and yelling. I pointed my finger at myself saying, “Who’s the man, who’s the man?” My brother was pissed off a little bit, I could tell, but I didn’t care. With about 20 seconds left in the game my brother clicked the game off; or as we say in the hood if you stop the game before the clock says 0:00, tap out! I started running full speed up the steps screaming, so I could tell my sister and mom that I beat Warren in Tecmo Bowl. I was acting like I just won the NFL Super Bowl for real. I was jumping on my bed. My mom was looking at me like I was crazy, just smiling & telling me to calm down. My sister was looking at me like, “Who cares?” I was the happiest little dude in the world that night. I finally had beaten my hero, my teacher…my big brother. I grew up in Wilkinsburg, a borough on the East side of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. I loved Wilkinsburg. My family and I lived on Franklin Avenue; a fun street to live on for an active kid. Franklin Ave. was a street of two different sides. You had the end that was more so geared for kids playing and having a good time. Just everyday blue collared working class families that were trying to make ends meet. Fortunately for me, we lived on this end of the street. Now the bottom end of Franklin Avenue wasn’t as playful; there was a lot more crime, drugs and other stuff like that. I didn’t


Blessed Footsteps / Memoirs of JR Holden

bother with all that for many reasons, but the most important in their eyes was …because I was a sportsman, and most of the kids who sold drugs or who were into that kind of thing liked me and pushed me to stay away from that kind of stuff. They wanted me to make it out of the neighborhood. I wasn’t an outgoing person, but I did a lot of ripping and running with the other kids in the neighborhood. I was the smart, athletic kid who most everybody kind of liked. I was rather quiet like my Pops, but I did like being around the other kids. I loved playing sports, hide-and-seek with the girls, or just sitting in someone’s house on the block playing Nintendo. Like any kid, I had a few altercations and run-ins with the kids that didn’t like me, for whatever silly reason they had. I simply chalk these squabbles up to kids being kids. When I look back on it now, as a man, I realize that I’m blessed to have made it out of there and to have the success that I have. Back when I was growing up, hearing the sound of gun fire and seeing drug deals go down, I didn’t realize how difficult it was for a lot of people to get out of the ‘hood’ and away from that lifestyle. A lot of the things I saw, heard, and was subjected to every day, I deemed as ‘normal’, and this was what most children experienced growing up. For instance, I didn’t realize at the time that all kids (regardless of how far away from school you lived) didn’t walk to school. There wasn’t a bus system in Wilkinsburg, so to get to school, you either walked or hitched a ride. Walking didn’t come without its own set of dangers. My parents tell a story of a young girl who lived on our street that was kidnapped walking to school. This took place years earlier when I was just an infant. The girl was around the age of my older brother and was walking to the local elementary school. The school she attended wasn’t even five minutes from her house. Unfortunately, she never made it to school that day and was never found. I sometime ponder what if? What if that would have been myself or my sister walking home or walking to school and never made it? How then would my story read…or would I even have a story to tell? I also remember playing basketball at my school playground and everyone having to lie down on the pavement quickly when we heard gunfire. All of our bodies had to hit the pavement swiftly because we had no idea where the gun shots were coming from. Even more, it was a normal occurrence to see a fight break out and someone get beat down severely. What wasn’t


Chapter I: Getting Here

normal was our reaction to the fights; we would just walk away. Unless the fight involved one of your close friends and/or family members, you didn’t jump in or get involved to help the injured party. You just stayed out of it and pretended like you didn’t see anything. This philosophy proved to be safe for us kids, while allowing us the chance to learn from the environment we loved being in. It taught us to be street smart (to always be aware of our surroundings); to know where you’re at and never show fear; to be cautious, but don’t act like you don’t belong; and to know who to interact with, because dealings with the wrong person could get you in some serious trouble. Nonetheless, the “hood” showed me genuine love and that I could always be myself; that being smart, being an athlete, and trying to be the best I could be was okay and cool. Furthermore, the environment in which I grew up showed me that there was a code to living in the streets and understanding it is a must; living it was up to you. I don’t live it because I am not in the streets, but I understand it from the ‘outside looking in’, because I interact with and have friends who live it. For me, it’s about growth as a person, but never forgetting where you came from. That enables me to appreciate the success, but know that without the ‘love’, support, and help from others outside of my immediate family I wouldn’t be where I am today. My neighborhood allowed me to be book smart and street smart. It gave me a balance of being able to hang out with nerds and hustlers. All in all, it showed me the good and bad that comes with trying to live the best life you can. As a kid growing up in Pittsburgh during the late 70’s you pretty much had to be a sports lover. The Steelers were winning Super Bowls and the Pirates were winning World Series. I guess you could say the city was full of itself and sports talk was the buzz all over the city. Well, for me, I caught that buzz at a very early age and kept it through much of my childhood years. During that time, most kids either played football or baseball. I had an older brother who was active in sports and anything he was doing; I wanted to do as well. Couple that with the fact that I was raised by parents that always showed support for anything their children was involved in made it so that I was ALWAYS around some sports event. This developed my passion for sports at an extremely early age. I grew


Blessed Footsteps / Memoirs of JR Holden

up being a three sports person: football, baseball, and later on basketball. I was playing Pee Wee/Midget football when I was 3-years old. I would come to every practice my brother had and just sit on the bench. My brother was 9-years old at the time, and I just wanted to be there to watch him. My dad realized I loved football so much at the age of 3 that he decided to buy me my first football uniform. It was a Pittsburgh Steelers uniform with the #32. That jersey number was of my favorite player at the time, the legendary Franco Harris. When I was 5, I still wasn’t old enough to play, but I reported to the field faithfully each day. So, the team presented me with an official Wilkinsburg uniform and sort of made me the mascot. In fact, my family has a photograph of me running for an extra point as a 5-year old, in one football game. I was so excited! Early on, most of Warren’s teammate’s parents thought I was destined to be a football success. They would come up to my mom and dad and say, “He is going to be a star one day; he loves the game so much.” My parents would just laugh. All they wanted was for me to be in activities and be active. All I knew at the time was that I wanted to follow my brother around and do whatever he was doing. He was my big brother and I just wanted to be like him. One thing was for sure, if he had a game at the field, you could expect that our whole family was there to support him. That was just how our family did things. Then when I turned 6-years old and was finally old enough to actually play on one of the football teams, something really ironic happened…I refused to play. I didn’t tell my mom or dad why, but I told them I wanted to take the year off. To this day, they don’t know why I didn’t play that year; and the funny thing is, I don’t know either. The next year my father began assistant coaching for the older age group and wanted me to join his team. I was hesitant at first because my dad told me I probably wouldn’t play, so as a kid, I thought that kind of sucked. On the flip side, I was thinking that I would be playing football for the All-Americans (an age group up from where I should be playing), and in my eyes they were the big boys. That made me feel even more special as a young player, so I told my dad that I was okay with that and I didn’t care if I played that much. A crazy thing happened that season; I ended up starting every game as a 7-year old. My dad did everything he could to help


Chapter I: Getting Here

each kid reach his potential playing football for us. For instance, one boy named Franklin wasn’t very fortunate financially, but he had a lot of talent. He was also a naturally big kid, not overweight, but chiseled. Anyway, he needed help making the weight limit. Each age group had an exact weight that every player had to be under on game day, in order to play in the game. That was unfortunate because Franklin wasn’t fat, but being a naturally big kid, he had to lose a few pounds in order to play in the game each and every week. Since he couldn’t really eat healthy due to his circumstances, my dad decided to step in and help Franklin make the weight limit. Being a young black kid in the inner city, you ate what your mom cooked. You didn’t eat salads and fruit if she didn’t fix that or have it in the house. Not knowing if this was 100% the case with Franklin, my dad would bring him fruit and salads every day. We would take him home after football practice, and I would run with him around a basketball court near his house for 30-45 minutes while he wore a garbage bag under his clothes to help him lose weight. Needless to say, Franklin made it under the weight limit all year. It wasn’t easy, but he just needed someone to encourage him, to really care about him, and to push him a little bit. With this, Franklin helped us to be a great team. Years later when I ran into him and he was playing college football, he told me how much that time my dad and I spent with him, meant to him. He said he became a better person and football player because of it. That experience showed him that it took discipline and hard work to be successful, and he wasn’t afraid to be successful. Many NFL scouts said he had NFL potential, but never got the chance. Franklin was killed in a drive-by shooting, I believe outside of his mom’s house. He was an innocent bystander. It hurt my dad and me when we heard the news. Franklin was a good kid; in college and trying to do the right thing. My heart still goes out to his family. Pee Wee football in Pittsburgh also afforded me the opportunity to play against and see future NFL players during their early years. I played against NFL player Mike Logan who played for West Mifflin at the time. NFL Hall of Famer Curtis Martin played for McKeesport when he was 12 or 13-years old. Current Steeler, Charlie Batch and a few other NFL players also played in the league. The talent in Pittsburgh was the real deal. There were also


Blessed Footsteps / Memoirs of JR Holden

many special players that I got to see play at a young age that never played in the NFL. Nevertheless, the talent and competition made me tough, and pushed me to always want to get better at whatever I was doing or playing. Whenever football season ended, it was time for baseball. I started playing what’s called ‘tee-ball’ at 6-years old. Again, I found myself playing baseball because my brother, Warren played. I thought baseball was easier to play, because there was no real contact. Don’t misunderstand me, it takes real skills to play baseball it just wasn’t as physical as football. The one thing I couldn’t do very well was hit the ball. Hitting was my weakness. On the other hand, I could catch the ball with the best of them. From an early age, because of my speed and eye-hand coordination, I always played the skilled and key positions. I was a catcher, short stop, second baseman, and center fielder. I enjoyed playing baseball, but I really didn’t love it the way I did football. As I got older, I started to follow professional players that I wanted to emulate. My favorite was short stop, Ozzie “The Wizard” Smith. He was incredible, and I practiced every day trying to do what he did on the field. He made plays that were extremely difficult look easy, and he was so smooth. That was my man, and I would work hard believing that when the games started and I was playing short stop, I was him, not Booper. In spite of this, the older I got, the less I loved playing baseball. I just didn’t have a passion for the game. By 14 years old, I was simply playing baseball because I thought my dad wanted me too. Once I got his blessing to stop playing, baseball was finished for me.

Blessed Footsteps Memoirs of JR Holden  

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