A Life Lived on My Own Terms
One Man’s Journey Through Family, Sports, Violence, Mistakes, and Redemption
Prologue: Looking Back at 49
I’m 49 years old, and when I look back at my life, I sometimes have a hard time believing how much I’ve experienced.
Some people grow up, go to school, get a job, get married, raise a family, and settle into a predictable routine. My life has never really worked that way. I’ve had incredible highs, some devastating lows, missed opportunities, bad decisions, and experiences that could have ended my life before I was old enough to understand what it meant to live.
I was a talented athlete. I played football, baseball, basketball, and lacrosse. I had a full scholarship opportunity to play lacrosse at Syracuse University, and at 18, I traveled to Australia with Team USA. By most measures, I had the potential to build an extraordinary future through sports.
But I also got into fights, spent time in jail, sold marijuana, lived a life that sometimes seemed to revolve around trouble, and eventually got stabbed badly enough to require emergency surgery. I left New York because I felt I had no choice. I started over thousands of miles away in California, where I worked full-time, went to college, and built friendships that have lasted decades.
Now, years later, I coach my two boys in high school lacrosse at Bloomingdale. I get to share with them a sport that changed the direction of my life. Watching them play has given me a perspective I couldn’t have had when I was their age.
Recently, a conversation about CTE—chronic traumatic encephalopathy, a brain disease associated with repeated head impacts—got me thinking about everything that came before. It made me look back at the concussions, the fights, the injuries, and the decisions I made when I was young and thought I was invincible.
And it made me realize something: I have a story to tell.
This isn’t a story about a perfect man who always made the right decisions. It’s about a person who experienced a lot, made mistakes, survived situations he probably shouldn’t have, and kept moving forward.
To understand how I got here, I have to go back to the beginning.
Chapter One: The Bronxville Kid
I was born in Bronxville, New York, in 1977. My mother was born in Ireland, and my father was born in Cuba. My parents raised me, and remarkably, they’re still together more than 55 years later.
That kind of longevity is rare. Whatever else I might say about my upbringing, my parents built a life together that has endured for decades.
My father was an extremely strict man. He wanted me to excel at everything I did, especially sports and school. He wanted me to play baseball and basketball, do well academically, and get things right. When I didn’t perform the way he expected, he would scream at me.
For years, I dealt with it. I was a kid, and he was my father. I knew what he wanted from me, and I tried to meet his expectations. But there comes a point when a kid can only take so much.
For me, that point came when I was 13.
I was playing in a baseball game, and my father was doing what he had done so many times before: screaming at me because I wasn’t doing something right.
Something inside me finally snapped.
I flipped out on him. I cursed him out, walked off, and went home.
And just like that, I was done with baseball.
I never played again.
Looking back, that moment was about more than baseball. It was the first time I remember drawing a line and deciding that I wasn’t going to keep doing something just because somebody else demanded it of me.
I didn’t have the words for it then. I was 13. I was angry, frustrated, and tired of being screamed at. But I had made a decision, and I stuck with it.
What I didn’t know was that another sport was about to become a defining part of my life.
And unlike baseball, lacrosse would be a sport I chose for myself.
Chapter Two: The Sport That Changed Everything
Lacrosse became my passion.
By 1993, I had established myself as one of the top defensive players in New York State. In tenth grade, I made the All-Empire defensive team, an honor that recognized me as one of the top three defensemen in the state.
I was still a teenager, but I was competing at an elite level. The same kid who had walked away from baseball was now excelling in a sport that gave him something he hadn’t always felt growing up: a place where his talent could speak for itself.
In eleventh grade, our team came painfully close to winning a state championship. We made it all the way to the state semifinals before losing, 4–3.
One goal.
That’s how close we came.
Those years were some of the most important of my athletic life. I was good enough to attract serious college interest, and I had the opportunity to turn my ability into something bigger.
But lacrosse wasn’t the only sport I excelled at.
I was also a phenomenal football player.
I could run for touchdowns, throw touchdown passes, and catch touchdown passes. I could do just about everything on the field. Football was another sport where I felt I had a natural gift.
Then, in eighth grade, I suffered two bad concussions.
The effects were terrifying. I lost feeling in half my body, and my vision disappeared. Eventually, my feeling and sight returned, but the experience frightened me so badly that I never played football again.
I was young, and I didn’t know what those injuries might mean for my future. I only knew that what had happened to me was serious, and I didn’t want to experience it again.
I would later suffer another concussion playing lacrosse. There were also street fights in which I took repeated blows to the head.
At the time, I wasn’t thinking about the long-term consequences of any of it. I was a young athlete who wanted to compete, a teenager who sometimes got into trouble, and a kid who thought he could handle whatever came his way.
Today, when I hear people discussing CTE, I think about that younger version of myself. I think about the hits, the fights, the injuries, and everything I didn’t understand back then.
I can’t say what those experiences might mean for my health today. But I can say that they were part of my story, and they’re part of why I’m looking back now.
Chapter Three: The Scholarship I Lost
By the time I was approaching the end of high school, I had a chance to play lacrosse at Syracuse University on a full scholarship.
For a young athlete, that was an enormous opportunity. Syracuse was a chance to continue playing at a high level, get an education, and take the next step toward the future I had imagined.
But I made a mistake on my application.
I had been suspended from school, not expelled. Somehow, I misunderstood the distinction and believed that the two words meant the same thing. When I filled out my application, I indicated that I had been expelled.
I hadn’t been.
It was a mistake, but it was a serious one. I lost the opportunity, and I never went to Syracuse to play lacrosse.
When I look back at that period of my life, I wonder how different things might have been if I had understood that application correctly. Maybe my life would have taken a different direction. Maybe I would have had a completely different college experience.
I’ll never know.
What I do know is that I was talented enough to earn the opportunity, but I didn’t make it through the process. My own mistake cost me something I had worked hard to achieve.
At the time, though, I had a lot more going on than college applications.
I was 18 years old, and my life was already moving in a direction that had very little to do with classrooms or a traditional college experience.
I was dating two girls, selling marijuana, going to nightclubs, and getting into fights on a regular basis. I was living fast, making decisions without thinking much about consequences, and getting deeper into situations that would eventually catch up with me.
I had no idea just how far things would go.
At 18, I traveled to Australia with Team USA for three weeks. It was an incredible experience, one of those opportunities that most young athletes can only dream about.
But alongside the international lacrosse experience, my life in New York was becoming increasingly dangerous.
By the time I was 19, the fighting had escalated to the point where I was stabbed and needed emergency surgery. It happened in circumstances I understood as a kind of turf war.
Whatever the precise reasons behind it, the result was life-changing.
I couldn’t stay in New York anymore.
I had to leave.
And that was how I ended up heading west, first to Tucson, Arizona, and then to San Diego, California.
I was leaving behind the place where I had grown up, the people I knew, and the life I had been living. I was still young, but I had already experienced things that would stay with me for the rest of my life.
My next chapter would begin in California.