Being a Champion Is Who You Are

Being a Champion Is Who You Are

The boy who just won a scholarship on the strength of his writing couldn’t read until he was in second grade. This is what he learned in between.

My son just won a scholarship, and I’m still a little undone by how it all came together.

Here’s the short version. His store manager nominated him. Stores across the state each put forward someone, the field was narrowed down, there were interviews, and the finalists were asked to write an essay. My son won — a significant award, $24,000 over four years. And when they told him why, they said the final decision came down largely to that essay.

To understand why that moves me so much, you’d have to know where he started.
The Long Road to That Essay

My son struggled in school for years. In second grade we finally learned why: a vision condition that glasses couldn’t fix. He did physical exercises to strengthen the muscles behind his eyes, and it was in second grade — later than most — that he finally learned to read. We had hired private teachers, spent hours each day practicing and every day it was like we were starting over. For much of school he was behind. I never pushed him for perfect grades and I never let him cut corners; I asked for two things only, honesty and his real best effort.

In middle school the headaches started. We learned they came from how hard he was straining his eyes just to focus on what was being taught. His doctor wrote a letter, and he was given a plan that would have let him take extra time on tests. Here is the part I will never get over: he never used it. He didn’t want anyone to know, and he never once asked for extra time or a single privilege he hadn’t earned. It wasn’t until his junior and senior years of high school that the A’s finally came — all of them. Today he’s in college carrying a 3.87 GPA.

He’s written a book. He’s built four games. But when he was asked to write about the greatest accomplishment of his life, he didn’t choose any of that. He chose his mindset. And reading it, I realized where the whole thing began — of all places, with a lawn he had to mow twice.
A Champion and a Kid, Same Conclusion

Around the same time this was unfolding, I’d been building a presentation for work about mindset, and I built it around something my coach, Ron Williams, always says:

“Winning a championship is what you do. Being a champion is who you are.”

Coach Ron is a 21× World Champion Natural Bodybuilder — Mr. Universe, INBA Hall of Fame, an inventor, an author, and a pastor. But the thing he actually teaches isn’t how to win. It’s a way of showing up: find your purpose, and let that mindset shape everything — your health, your work, your leadership, your life.

So when my son handed me his essay, I had to sit down for a second — because a kid who’d fought just to read had written, in his own plain words, the exact thing a 21× champion spends his life trying to teach. Both of them were pointing past the trophy to the same place: who you choose to be in the work.

Here it is, in his own words — the essay that won him the scholarship. I haven’t touched a thing.

The Greatest Accomplishment of My Life

— by my son

This might sound strange to some, but I think my greatest accomplishment is not really something I’ve made or even a skill I’ve learned. I think it’s my mindset. I’m proud of the way I’ve taught myself to look at life. I’m always trying to build, learn, and improve every day, even when I’m tired or just don’t feel like doing it. But that alone is not what makes it important. There is another part to it. And that is the pride I take in what I do and what I leave behind.

Now, before I go further, I feel like I need to say that, at first, I thought about writing this essay on something I had made, like my book, or on one of the skills I’ve built, like drawing or making games. But after thinking about it more, I realized those things are only the byproduct of something else. And that something is what really pushes me forward, not just the final result, but the ability to keep going even when I don’t want to, while still caring about doing something meaningful.

This thought often makes me wonder what other people will think of what I leave behind. Will it feel like something I truly cared about, or will it feel like I just wanted to get it over with? That question has stayed with me for a long time and has shaped the way I work because it reminds me that getting something done is not enough if I didn’t actually care about how I did it in the first place.

Which brings to mind when I was younger: I used to think that if I got something done quickly enough, I could get back to what I actually wanted to be doing. Like when I was mowing the lawn and hating every second of it, so I rushed through it as fast as I could, only having to do it all over again when my mom saw the monstrosity of uneven patches by the way that lawn mower had soared through the lawn. If I had just taken the time to do it right the first time, I would have finished sooner and been back to what I actually wanted to do, instead of sulking as I pushed it slowly while my mom looked on from afar.

That same lesson carried into the things I care about most, like when I was writing my first versions of my book, I sometimes rushed through parts of it, almost like throwing paint in random directions and hoping it would somehow turn into the picture I had in my head. Sometimes that kind of messy start can help, but I found that when I stepped back and really thought about what I wanted to do, everything became clearer. I started seeing that when I rush something or put in careless effort, fixing it later usually takes more work than if I had just done it right the first time.

This has helped me in more ways than I can count throughout my life. It has taught me not to rely on the idea of tomorrow. It is easy to say I’ll do it later, but later is never guaranteed. All I really have is right now. Because of that, I try to put real effort into what I do when I have the chance, instead of pushing it away for some future moment that may never come.

So when I think about my greatest accomplishment, I do not think of a single project or skill I have developed, but rather the mindset I have built that will stay with me throughout my life, whether in my work, my passions, or even my relationships. To me, that means more than any single thing I could create, because it is the reason I am able to create in the first place and feel proud of what I leave behind, instead of looking back and wishing I had done more.

What He’s Really Saying

When I read it back alongside Coach Ron’s teaching, the same five things kept surfacing. These are as true at a diffuser or a keyboard as they are in a gym.Do it right the first time. Care up front is faster than rework. Rush it, and it comes back broken; the shortcut is quality. (Ask the lawn.)

Feel the pain — don’t flee it. Keep building even when you’re tired or don’t feel like it. The work you want to avoid is usually the work that matters most.

Be patient. Get clear, then go. Step back before you throw the paint. See the picture first, and there’s far less to unwind later.

Care what you leave behind. Would it read as something you meant — or just something you wanted over with?

Now is all you have. Later isn’t guaranteed. Put real effort in while you can.

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How to Put It Into Practice

A mindset isn’t a mood you wait to feel — it’s a set of small choices you can start making today. Here’s how to turn each of those five into something you actually do this week.

1. Define “done well” before you start. Before any task, take ten seconds to name what a good version looks like — then work toward that, not just toward “finished.” You can’t hit a target you never named.

2. Do the thing you’re avoiding — for ten minutes. Notice what you keep sliding past on your list. That avoidance is usually a flare telling you it matters. Set a timer and give it ten honest minutes; momentum does the rest.

3. Picture it finished before you dive in. One quiet minute imagining the finished result will save you an hour of unwinding a mess. Step back before you throw the paint.

4. Run the name-on-it test. Before you call something done, ask: “Would I be proud to put my name on this?” If the answer is no, it isn’t finished yet — and now you know exactly what’s left.

5. Take the “later” and make it now. Pick the one thing you keep promising yourself you’ll get to eventually. Give it five real minutes today. Later isn’t guaranteed; this moment is.

Winning is what you do. Being a champion is who you are. A world champion spent decades learning that. My son learned it the hard way — through a condition that made reading a fight, headaches he pushed through, and help he was too proud to take — and then he wrote it down at a kitchen table, and it earned him four years of school. It started, of all things, with a lawn he had to mow twice.

If you’re a parent in the thick of the small, unglamorous battles — the redo, the “that’s not your best,” the sulking — take heart. You never know which ordinary afternoon is quietly becoming the thing your child carries for life.

“It is the reason I am able to create in the first place — and feel proud of what I leave behind, instead of looking back and wishing I had done more.”

— Steffanie