It is with great shame that I tell you the story behind this poem. Shame because it shows I made a horrible mistake and judged someone. In 1989, I was an intern for Senator Sam Nunn in Washington D.C. One of the greatest statesmen of our generation! What a great man.
I worked in domestic affairs and often answer the phone when they were ringing off the hook (as they often did.) I remember this one day that I had just gotten off the phone with a man from California who was convinced that the Senator was funding research to create laser beams that would put out the eyes of everyone on earth. (Senator Nunn was Chairman of the armed services committee.) I listened with respect as any caller to the US Senate deserves and noted his concerned to be put in the daily log files. I say this not to excuse what happened next but just to give a context that it had been quite a day.
My next caller sounded almost like a child. The voice was quiet and the words were stilted. It was Muhammad Ali – at least he said he was. I listened to him and it was difficult. At first I pushed my pad of paper aside – it had been a long day. I'd just listen this one out. But then, as I listened, I thought to myself ‘What if this is really him?” He had some serious concerns and said he'd be by at a certain time on a certain date to see Senator Nunn. I took the message and said I'd pass it along.
I remember getting off the phone and feeling a huge sense of uneasiness. If I took this message from this man who I didn't know and who certainly didn't sound like “the Champ” – at least the one I knew and took it to the front office – I might look like an idiot. But, if I didn't take the message and he came by, I would be even worse.
I took the message and explained to the front office manager the situation, “It didn't sound like him, but I'm bringing this to you just in case.”
He came. The champ came to see Senator Nunn.
I didn't know it at the time but Muhammad Ali had Parkinson's Disease. (A disease of which I'm all too familiar since my father-in-law passed away from it several years back.) It was truly the champ, but trapped in a body that made it difficult to speak. I was congratulated for passing along the message but inside I was humiliated, ashamed, and sick at myself and what I had thought.
When I saw Touched by an Angel (a sappy TV series I love) and Muhammad Ali was on the episode (#522) it all came flooding back. The story was beautiful, but I saw a man trying his best to still be inspirational while trapped in a body that can barely speak and again I felt ashamed. Here, over twenty years later I am ashamed that I did not want to listen because of the way he spoke on the phone. Should he or his family ever read this — I'm so truly sorry. I really am.
But I bare this to you for a reason. We are surrounded by champions. Champions who may have struggles with speaking or talking like the rest of us. They don't fit in — whether disabled or impaired by physical problems or disease -they are everywhere.
- Do we disparage the champion within because of assumptions?
- Do we jump to conclusions and not open doors?
- Are we ignoring the champions among us because of preconceived notions?
In many ways, all of us are probably guilty of this same thing. The person who talks a little more slowly may find themselves interrupted by one who talks faster and is a little louder. We leave people out. We underestimate them.
The Special Olympics is an important cause in my life and some of the most beautiful people have life-changing moments at these games. This poem is not only inspired by my experience with Ali so many years a go, and the TV episode I saw, but also by the Special Olympians, those with autism, those with learning disabilities and Alzheimers and Parkinsons — those among us who are true giants that we often do not recognize.
Now, as I cry in tears as I write this post, please read this poem and decide that you will learn (along with me) to not be quick to judge nor underestimate the potential of those who may not communicate like we do.
Thank you, my friends, in advance for not lambasting me on my thoughts and behavior. I am truly sorry.
Heavyweight Champion of the World
by Vicki Davis
Dedicated to all those fighters trapped in bodies that hide the champion within.
So, you speak a little slowly,
sometimes I can't understand you.
You didn't quit, though.
I am sorry I didn't recognize you
as such a fighter.
Did I discourage you
with my impatient huff?
No one knew you were so tough.
I am so sad that I understimated you,
but you fought on.
I heard you and yet,
I really didn't listen, did I?
But you stayed in the ring,
still a champ
For the true victor
may be fit and battle-thin
or may be trapped
with the champion
Fight on my butterfly
though life has stung like a bee,
though this world
doesn't know you
you are a hero to me.
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