Pounding the Path to Your Purpose

I had the absolute honour of speaking to the amazing Dick Hoyt recently.  Never heard of him?  Do yourself a favour and read on...

The path to finding ones purpose is a unique and personal journey.  For some, it strikes them like a lightning bolt from the heavens.  Others have it thrust upon them, like Dick Hoyt whose son Rick was born with cerebral palsy.  For anyone still searching or struggling to find their purpose or passion, Dick Hoyt has one simple message, “Yes you can.” 

Dick Hoyt didn’t set out to be an inspiration.  As one of ten children, he was raised to do things the hard way, perhaps that’s what attracted him to a career in the military.  Life changed forever when his first son, Rick, was born with cerebral palsy in 1962.  Dick and Judy Hoyt were told their son was a vegetable and should be institutionalised.  “Forget about him,” they were told.  “We cried a bit and then we talked,” Dick recalls.  “You could tell by looking in his eyes that he was smart and paying attention to everything we said.”  The Hoyts took one day at a time with their special little boy and eventually convinced a team of engineers to create a custom-designed computer to help Rick communicate.  This incredible machine enabled Rick to not only complete school but to then move on to university where he achieved a degree in special education. 

It was while at university that Rick first convinced his father to compete in a charity run for a student who had become paralysed in an accident.   Rick said to his father, “I want to let him know that life goes on.”  Despite finishing next to last, after the race Rick typed a simple sentence to his Father that changed his life forever, “When I’m running it feels like I’m not handicapped.”

More than 30 years later, Dick has pushed, pulled and carried Rick in 1073 different marathons, triathlons and ironman triathlons.  The numbers are extraordinary; a gruelling 32 races a year (down from 50 a year at their peak), the longest being the notorious Ironman Triathlon with  distances of 3.86km swim, 180.25 bike, 42.2 run.  The most extraordinary number though is their ages.  Rick is 50 and Dick will turn 72 later this year.  Team Hoyt, as they are now collectively known, are an unstoppable force.

The pure joy on Rick’s face as they cross the finish line is moving stuff and is the fuel Dick needs to continue.  Watch any footage of the pair in action and Team Hoyts message of “Yes you can” feels absolutely possible.  Dick’s motivation has never been in question.  Only once have they pulled out of a race, after they crashed out in the bike leg of the Hawaiian Ironman.  “There’s something that gets into me when we’re out there that I can’t explain. It makes me go faster,” Dick says with his relaxed Boston drawl.

He is often asked the question of how much longer he can keep this up.  While most of his contemporaries are deeply settled into retirement, Dick laces up his sneakers each morning often in temperatures that plummet to -5 degrees.  He admits that the early mornings are getting harder but he only needs to look at his son for inspiration.  “The easiest thing Rick could have done was quit,” he says.  “But he’s a fighter, he never gives up.  We’ll keep this up as long as we’re still enjoying it”. 

It’s not suprising that when Dick does have any precious down time he prefers to spend it enjoying the company of his family.  Simple pleasures like fishing or water skiing with his four grandsons bring him the greatest joy.  The family also own a small restaurant and ice-cream stand, Team Hoyt’s Finish Line.  As well as a reputation for the best ice-cream, the café is full of Team Hoyt memorabilia and is a popular stop for tourists.

Any break is never too long though.  With mounting injuries and state of the art equipment required for races, the cost to maintain Team Hoyt is astounding, so now on top of his training, Dick also travels the world as a motivational speaker.  His “yes you can” message is a powerful one that has changed the lives of alcoholics, drug addicts and people on the verge of suicide.  What began as a quest to bring happiness to his son, now feels like a much broader duty.

Dick is most proud of the changes he has seen in other families with disabled children and how they have been encouraged to take a more active role in their child’s life.  In 1962 people with disability were removed from mainstream society and most people would never have seen anyone in a wheelchair.  The Hoyts were determined that their child wouldn’t miss out on a thing.  “We took Rick everywhere with us.  To the shops, to restaurants, and people would leave because they didn’t want to be around us,” says Dick.  Team Hoyt have now inspired similar pairings around the world with athletes volunteering their time and bodies to give those with a disability the chance to feel free of their physical boundaries.   Where the Hoyts were once not even accepted in their own home town, they are welcomed with open arms the world over.  Dick admits there’s still some work to be done in overcoming people’s prejudices, but through the sheer determination of his family, Rick has been fortunate to live a fuller life than many able-bodied people.

Dick’s advice can be applied to virtually any dilemma and is almost frustratingly simple.  “If you are focused you will be able to accomplish almost anything you set your mind to.  It might be hard, but you can do it.”

It seems the Team Hoyt phenomenon is far from finished.  There are many races still on their ‘to do’ list and they would love to one day compete in Australia.  It’s been a journey that has given Dick’s life a depth of purpose he could never have imagined and for Rick it’s a journey that transcends the limitations of his body, and other people’s minds.

The Melody of Life (A picture says ...)

The latest of my creative writing posts in the Picture Says... series set by my writing friend Kelly Exeter. 

The melody still dances through my mind, as vivid today as it was 30 years ago.  It’s the weirdest things that trigger the memory; the smell of gravy, the sound of a shovel piercing through fresh earth…

Most afternoons, my mother would call out over the fence to Mrs Tucker and obediently I would follow.  I was always in the way whenever my mother was around and especially so at 4pm when her latest boyfriend would be about to arrive for a midweek sleep over.  My fear and confusion would be washed away in a sea of iced vovo’s and milk the moment I stepped into the sanctuary of Mrs Tuckers home.

I would potter around the house with her, helping shell peas or mending her husband’s trousers and she would ask me about my day as if it was the most important information she’d ever heard.  Every so often she would pull the old sheet off her piano and play for me.  She would sit at her stool, apologising in advance, “I’m a little rusty,” she would always say, crack her knuckles and wince as she took one long sip of her warm sherry.  With fingers poised, she would wait as if for some signal from above, and then she would start. 

Her fingers would glide across the keys and I would stare, trance-like watching them.  The music transported me to another time and place, far from my suburban prison.  As she played, her eyes gleamed with the vibrancy of youth and her arthritic hands seemed suddenly cured.  Then as abruptly as she started, she would stop, her eyes moist from the time and memory the music evoked.

One day my mum picked me up from school and we didn’t go home.  I would sometimes dream that Mrs Tucker asked me to live with her and we lived together cosy in little fibro shack, without a worry in the world and a big garden at the front to display her prized Azalea’s. 

I cried every night until I forgot to.  Many years later I was reminded of my afternoons at Mrs Tucker’s house when at a party I heard the sound of neglected piano brought back to life by a man emboldened by one too many boutique beers.  I’ve even been inspired to take lessons myself, determined to find the beauty she did in the music.

She’d be long gone now, but the memory of her music will always play in my heart.

65 Years of Holding Hands

Recently I had the pleasure of interviewing a couple celebrating their 65th wedding anniversary.  So forget Hollywood for a moment and enjoy a real-life love story...

While Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman starred in one of the greatest romances of the silver screen in Casablanca, another love story was blossoming between Cliff & Jean Collins.  It was 1942 and only 15 at the time, Cliff spotted Jean while working as a postal messenger.  He came close to falling off his delivery bike when he spotted her sitting inside her Fathers Model-A Ford truck parked across the road from him.  On their first meeting he held her hand and he hasn’t let go since.

This week Cliff & Jean celebrated 65 years of marriage, a union which produced six children, 15 grandchildren and in the coming weeks will welcome great grandchildren numbers 13 and 14.  Family members are travelling from across Australia to be with the couple at their home on the Sunshine Coast to celebrate this special occasion.

Family is clearly important to Cliff and Jean and they credit this as being one of the foundations of their marriage.  “We’ve always done everything together and as the kids grew up our lives revolved around them and their activities,” said Cliff. 

Family also brought Cliff and Jean the biggest challenge of their partnership when their eldest son tragically died after an accident playing AFL at age 17.  Cliff remembers, “It was a really tough time, but where many couples would have fallen apart, his death actually brought us closer together.”

Despite the odd challenge, life as a young couple was simple and revolved around the cornerstones of family and hard work.  Farmers of wheat and sheep, Cliff and Jean retired from the farm in Victoria at 60 to move to Queensland to be closer to their children. 

“People today undervalue the importance of the connection between husband and wife,” says Cliff.  “The love in a home starts with the parents and is reflected onto the children of the family, who then pass this onto their own children.  It’s the most important legacy we can leave.”

They are now aged 85 and 86 respectively and have been fortunate to always had good health.  He doesn’t take it for granted though, Cliff begins each day by kissing his wife and telling her he loves her.  Their “love affair”, as he describes it, has only grown stronger over the years.

Over the past week, messages of best wishes have arrived from The Queen, The Prime Minister, QLD Premier, Governor General and local politicians.  This touching tradition reminds us just how momentous this occasion is.  65 years.  With modern couples marrying later in life, marriages of this length will soon be a thing of a past.

How did Cliff and Jean celebrate the day?  They enjoyed pumpkin scones for morning tea with their daughter and were treated to a roast lunch with friends.  Forget the traditional gift for a 65^th anniversary of blue sapphires.  After seven decades together, this couple understand that the most important things can’t be bought.

Relationships today are unnecessarily complicated.  We spend more time with our virtual friends than real ones and entire romances are conducted (and ended) via email, text and Skype.  Cliff’s answer to the secret of a long and happy marriage is frustratingly simple.  “A good marriage is like a bank account,” he shares.  “Put a little bit into it every day and the richer you will become.”  This may be the reason that throughout 65 years together, they have never had a fight.

After the commotion of their anniversary celebrations settle, Cliff and Jean look forward to what is for them a perfect night in: sitting in their matching recliners watching Dads Army DVD’s, and still after 65 years, holding hands.

A Day in the Life of a Three Year Old

Every day I am astounded by  the energy of my three year old son Jamie.  He leaps into each day with enviable joy and enthusiasm.  So for just a moment, I close my eyes to ponder what it would be like to spend a day in the life of a three year old…

My little 'ANGEL', Jamie xx

I wake up to sound of silence.  Stopping for a moment to listen, I realise the quietness is because not even at 4.50am are the birds awake.  Nevertheless, I have unstoppable energy coursing through me and I leap out of bed to greet the day.  I wake everyone in the house up with kisses, cuddles and misguided elbows in the face as I clamber on top of everyone in an attempt to get as physically close to them as I can.

I can’t stop for breakfast as there’s just too much to do.  I’m halfway through a book on shapes, my dolls all need warm coats on and I’m trying to perfect a block tower.  A couple of bites of toast should see me through til 7am when I will cry uncontrollably from hunger pains.

I’ve dressed for work in my usual corporate attire, but have accessorised with fairy wings and sword. 
“That will come in handy for my 9am meeting”, I say aloud.

My day in the office begins as normal, except I have the uncontrollable urge to get up and run every 10 minutes and push over anyone who is even the slightest bit shorter than me. 

My 10am coffee has been replaced by Milo and when I discover that there are no Teddy Bear biscuits in the cupboard I throw myself to the ground and scream for the next 5 minutes.  I conclude the spectacle with a fabulous Milo fountain across the staff kitchen and walk away for someone else to clean it up.

There’s a big meeting in the boardroom scheduled for 12.30pm, but I cancel so I can have a nap.  You won’t want to know me by 3pm if I don’t get at least a 30 minute sleep in!

I’ve woken up grumpy and really need a cuddle.  It’s at this moment my boss comes in and gives me some constructive criticism on a report I’ve just submitted.  I cry and kick him in the shins.   

At 2pm, my day gets worse when I have “an accident”.  I don’t know how it happened.  One minute I’m at the printer chatting to my friends and then the next thing I know I’ve wet my pants.  I shout, “I’VE DONE A WEE” and walk confidently back to my desk.  Thank goodness, I have found a spare tutu in my bag which will see me through the afternoon.

5pm is here in a flash and I’ve spent the afternoon colouring all the grids of my excel spreadsheet.  I commend myself on my fabulous artwork and head home.  The others are off to the pub for a wine, but I can’t go, Playschool’s on.

Dinner goes much the same as what breakfast did and I finish my meal with more of it on the floor than in my mouth. 

(Insert more random crying, yelling and misguided violence here)

I climb into bed exhausted at 7pm after catching up on the latest instalment from Spot the dog.  I’m stoked because I’ve managed to go to bed without brushing my teeth or having a bath!