By Ricky Brown
Like any kid, I grew up with big dreams. My first was to be a WWE Superstar, a passion I shared with my dad and grandfather. Watching wrestling with them and imitating the on-screen moves mentally prepared me. Physically, I prepped by doing five pushups and five situps every day. Growing up, I got picked on because of my ADHD, and expressing my hopes for a future in wrestling only made the bullying worse. My dreams of becoming a WWE Superstar slowly disappeared.
I was almost 8 when my aspirations shifted to the Air Force, mainly because of the coolest person in my life: my grandfather. The toughest man I knew, he never took anything from anyone, a lesson he passed down to me. After he taught me how to fight, any bullying I experienced stopped. Two and a half years passed, and my dreams of being in the Air Force went away while the admiration for my grandfather stayed.
Another permanent part of my life has been baseball. When I was about 10, I discovered the Little League World Series and started watching it whenever it was on. Seeing these kids a little older than me on TV made me think, “If they can do it, then why can’t I?” So I worked and worked and then worked some more. Almost every day after school, I was either at practice or practicing with my dad, who pushed me to my limits and beyond.
I was a catcher at the time, taking on a leadership role for my team, but even that didn’t make them take my dream seriously. When I would talk about going to the Little League World Series, people would laugh and say, “That’s unrealistic, Ricky, be for real.” Eventually, I aged out of qualifying for the L.L. World Series but still held onto my determination. My dream grew with me. I wanted to play in college.
My high school experience was different from the usual. During my freshman year of high school, the peak of COVID-19 happened, and remote learning was in effect. Remote learning was very, very difficult. I was the type of learner who needed to physically see what I was studying to understand it. With my ADHD, I would always get distracted and watch TV or do anything other than schoolwork. When baseball season came around, I was ready to play some ball.
I wanted to make varsity so bad even though I was a freshman. Tryouts started, and I was so nervous. Despite my anxiety, it seemed I did well. Afterwards, I talked to some of the guys who already knew the coach and they said I impressed him, a hard thing to do as a freshman. On decision day, everyone was there and he told us, “If I call your name, step up and grab a jersey.” He called some names, “Chris, Ryan, Terry,” etc. I was starting to lose hope and thought I hadn’t made varsity. Finally, I heard it. “Richard Brown.”
My head perked up and I had a big cheesy grin on my face. I walked up and there it was. My number 7. When I saw the number 7, I knew I had my place on the team. Growing up, I played with the number 7 my entire life. That number was my lucky number. MY number.
I remember going home and showing my mom and dad. They were so excited and couldn’t wait to see me play. My grandfather was so proud of me, but he told me, “You gotta keep your grades up. I don’t care how good you are, if you do not have the grades, you’re not gonna play.” My grandfather was always hard on me about grades. He wanted the best for me when it came to school.
My first Varsity game was fast approaching and by now my team and I had been working out for a couple of months. As a freshman those workouts were intense, I remember coming home super sore. As our first game approached, my anxiety grew. About 3 hours before gametime, my coach told me that I was getting the start behind the plate.
I called my grandfather and told him the great news. He was so happy. He told me to stay calm and that he knew I was nervous. He said “As long as you went out there and played the game that you knew how to play everything would go your way.” I never forgot those words. So I went out there and played the game that I knew how to play. I ended up doing well in that game, throwing out 2 runners.
Come sophomore year of high school, we finally went back to in-person learning. It was weird because I still felt like a freshman. With all these new faces and new people, I luckily met a friend who stuck out high school with me. I felt lost but after a while, I got used to crowded halls and people bumping into each other, the usual high school experience.
My team and I were working out through the winter, but something tragic happened that made me put a pause on baseball and school. My grandfather passed away.
The day I found out I was having a regular day. I went to school, had workouts for baseball, came home, did homework, and then played video games. Then my mom came into the room crying, saying “He passed.” I asked who and she said “Your grandfather.” At that moment, everything felt blank, and I cried. I couldn’t believe it.
I had to skip baseball for about two or three weeks and get ready for his funeral in Florida. On the long car ride there, I was thinking about it and I was wishing it was a joke. I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. I promised him I was going to play baseball in college.
After about a week of being back home, I tried to get back into baseball and working out. I struggled at first but after a while, I got back into it. By the start of the baseball season, I was a full-time starter but all I could think about was my grandfather. For the rest of my high school career I played for him.
Throughout my junior year, I worked and worked to get stronger and faster. I wanted to be the best of the best. I wasn’t going to settle for OK; I settled for great.
Fast forward to the end of my junior year of high school. I just turned 17 and about a week after my birthday, I had a sharp pain in my right side. As the days went by, the pain was getting worse and worse. I couldn’t walk, run, or stand up straight. It even hurt to breathe. I was constantly in unbearable pain and discomfort. I said, “Enough is enough, I have to get checked by a hospital.” They ran some tests and did some scans. My appendix had ruptured.
The doctor said if I hadn’t gone into the hospital when I did, I could’ve died. My life changed when I realized how lucky I was. I thanked God for making me get to that hospital. Like any other 17-year-old kid, I wanted to be blowing up fireworks that July. But instead, the month was spent in surgery, under anesthesia, enduring pain. When I woke up the next day, the feeling nearly prevented me from breathing. About a week went by with no improvement, prompting more scans. An abscess was building up and building up fiercely, pushing my organs around. So, I went into another surgery and they put a bag in my hip to drain all the abscesses. After a couple of days having the bag in my hip, it was time for my third surgery to remove it. Three weeks in the hospital felt like a year but, finally, I could go home.
By my senior year, I could walk again. However, the doctor only cleared me to lift 15 pounds and nothing heavier, just enough to carry my bookbag. Then school began and I saw my friend Curtis, who was happy to see that I was doing well given the circumstances. I still couldn’t run, jump, or move around too much, but in my heart I was ready to get back on the field. Curtis looked after me to make sure I didn’t get hurt while I was still in rehab and I would still go to practice to support my team. My coach looked after me, making sure to reach out to me and my family while I was in and out of the hospital.
Sometimes the pain got the best of me and made me really think about life and the path I was going on. I still had a passion for baseball and loved the sport itself but I felt something different, something calling my name.
It’s photography…no, it’s broadcasting. No, it’s editing and filmmaking. It was all those things at once. After meeting the broadcasting teacher, Mr. King, he taught me a lot about talking on the microphone and dealing with nervousness. I learned photography from my film class, studying angles and video styles. My film teacher, Mr. Dulany, would have me be an anchor and writer for our high school news. He would also have me record certain events being held at the school while Mr. King would have me record the football game.
Doing all this new exciting stuff alongside baseball left me with no time to do anything else. It felt like I had to choose between the two. I loved photography and videography, but I also had a promise that I needed to keep to my grandfather.
Over the winter, I thought it through. I would do broadcasting and film while working out and then come springtime, I would focus on baseball. I continued to broadcast and record the school plays with my work catching the eye of the superintendent. I was then assigned to more photography assignments by the school. As springtime came, I left the broadcasting club but still visited on my days off, making a podcast or hanging out and discussing podcasting arrangements. Meanwhile, baseball season was in effect and I was back at 100 percent. My team was going to Alabama for our first game, but I still couldn’t shake the fear of reinjuring myself. But despite all the negative thoughts I was having, I still went out there and played the game I knew how to play.
Towards the end of the season, I still hadn’t decided on which school I wanted to go to. Then out of nowhere, the athletic director from Moraine Valley, General McArthur, showed up at our school. At the end of the practice, he talked to my team and told us the importance of hustle and determination. Then he said, “I’m going to offer two guys full-ride scholarships too.”
I was praying that I was one of them. He first said “Aaron.” And then “Ricky.” My heart jumped in circles. The first thing I thought of was, “This is it. This is my opportunity to prove to everyone that I’m good enough and that this is my dream.” I was also going to be keeping my promise to my grandfather. If only I could see the look on his face when the coach said that. From that point forward, I worked as hard as I could on and off the field.
I studied more, I practiced more in my free time, I did anything I could do to improve my game. Freshman year of college came and I was as nervous as anyone else would be but I went into it with an open mind.
After a new injury set me back a month, I got cleared and our season was coming to a quick close. Coach told me to go in and at that moment all I could think about was my grandfather and how proud he would be no matter how good or bad I did. All he wanted was for me to play in college. I was doing just that.
I said my prayer to him, walked out on that mound and pitched, and remembered what he told me: If you go out there and play the way you know how to play, everything will go your way. During that first pitch, my dreams came true. Everything that I had worked so hard for came to life.
I felt unreal but so grounded at the same time. I couldn’t believe it was happening before my eyes.
My dreams were finally coming true.
Velocity 
Leave a comment