Parallels CH1: Progress is Invisible

Slowly, then all at once.

A kid trying to make it.

"Because"

What does the word "because" mean to you?

You will find this definition if you look up the word in Merriam-Webster's.

As an 8-year-old boy, it meant more than that. It signified a triumphant feat—the learning of a new language.

As I recall, I spoke no English when I first moved to the U.S.… On my first day of school, a few weeks after my family moved from Venezuela, I sat alone during lunch. I looked at the classic school lunch plate before me: chicken nuggets and mashed potatoes. I would later learn what a great combination they are when combined, but that day, it looked lifeless and bland, nothing like the freshly baked empanadas we took for granted in my homeland. I also had a juice box and a carton of milk. I looked at both cartons, puzzled and uncertain of their contents. I didn't understand what they said. All I read was "T.G Lee" inscribed in big letters on the front.

The weeks passed, and I sat through numerous classes, clueless about what the teachers said. The only subject that made sense was math, a universal language by trade.

I began to get frustrated. I couldn't communicate with the kids in my class. I had to hire a personal translator, Gabe, to translate my Spanish into English. Gabe's family moved to the U.S. from Puerto Rico a few years back, so he spoke a good "Spanglish." There was a problem: I had no money to pay him to translate. Thankfully, Gabe volunteered to work for free. He was one of my first friends in America.

Every day at school, we had some time to read. I remember picking up Roahl Dahl's Esio Trot every single day for months, trying to understand what it was saying. I would ask Gabe and my teacher, Mrs. Miranda (who luckily spoke Spanish), to translate the words and tell me what they meant.

When I went home from school, I watched Nickelodeon with my sister and tried deciphering what Spongebob and Patrick were saying on the TV. My favorite episodes were those I had already seen in Venezuela. I had already watched the episode in Spanish, so I could interpret what was happening.

Pokemon was also huge in my English learning journey. I played Pokemon religiously before dinner every day. My biggest lesson was playing Pokemon Ruby on my Gameboy and reaching a point in the game where I had to understand what a nonplayable character(NPC) said. I didn't know what to do since I couldn't read what the NPC said. After trying furiously to move on with the game, I decided to restart it and vowed that I would know how to proceed when I returned to that part of the game.

The days went by. School, reading, SpongeBob, Pokemon. Every day.

A few weeks later, something extraordinary happened. Gabe used the word "because" in a sentence.I'm not sure how or why, but something sparked in me.

"Because".

I began rattling off short sentences using the word "because."

"I like chicken nuggets because they taste good."

"Math is fun because I understand."

"Gabe is my friend because he speak' Spanish."

The sentences were broken English but made sense.

The next day, I got out of bed, and all I could think about was "because." Once I got to school, something crazy happened. My teacher used "because" while explaining the "short a" sound during a grammar lesson. I understood what she said clearly. For the rest of the lesson, I understood what she said. For the rest of my day, I could make sense of what I read, understand what the characters on TV said, and understand what the Pokemon characters told me to do.

Then came the real test: moving on in my Pokemon game. A few days later, I reached the point in the game where I had failed the previous time.

I read the NPC's words. He instructed me to go to a place I hadn't been to before in the game. The last time I read those lines, I had no idea what they meant, but now, I was certain. I did what he said, and Boom! I scored the item I needed to move on to the next place in the game.

This is actual game footage (not mine):

The point of this story is not about my English or the word "because."

There is a hidden meaning. Progress is invisible until it's not.

You may not feel like you're progressing at first, and your growth may seem stagnant. At the time, I felt as if I woke up one day and magically spoke English, but in reality, I was putting in reps by playing Pokemon, going to school, and reading. I didn't think anything of it, but this is what allowed me to break through with my English.

---

An adult trying to make it

I had much to prove when I showed up to play baseball as a Freshman in college.

I was undersized, slow, and weak.

In high school, defense was my calling card. I had a god-given talent in the infield and could scoop up ground balls like one of those new Dyson vacuums—smooth and seamless.

When I first got to campus, I noticed that I was up against grown men with 3-4 years on me physically. These barbarians had full beards and engorged muscles compared to my slender 145-pound frame and hairless jawline.

I was a kid.

More importantly, they had experience playing at the Division One level, while I had only experience playing against high schoolers.I was overmatched.

Even my defense needed to be better at this level. The condition of our infield didn't help. It was concrete-like with bumps, not the best surface to show off silky smooth actions on the field.

There was another problem. I was not a very good hitter. I could make contact, but it wouldn't go past the infield when I did. My coach and I sat down one day to talk about my hitting. We figured out that my load and stride were inefficient. It was loud and jumpy, not the smooth and quiet stride you see from the major leaguers.

"I have no idea how to make that move," I told my coach.

He assured me to keep working on it off the tee, and then we would translate it into the game. Eventually, my defense settled down, but I had a senior ahead of me in my position; he was the starting shortstop the year prior and had earned his keep.

My only option was to come back and outplay him and everyone.

I went back home frustrated but determined. I was going to rake when I got back to campus.

All of my days during winter break went a little something like this

• Wake up.

• Go to the gym.

• Go to the batting cage.

• Eat as much as I could.

• Watch videos of Miguel Cabrera (Miggy) hitting.

• Pace around the living room with a bat, trying to perfect Miguel Cabrera's load and stride.

It was ugly. At first, I even got worse at hitting. My movements were completely off. Still, I did this every single day. By the end of winter break, I felt confident in the moves I made with my load and stride.

There was one problem. In the winter, I hit mainly off a tee, did some soft toss, and did a little bit of batting practice. If you've ever played baseball, you know that while these practice methods can help you refine your technique, they don't compare to a 90-mile-per-hour fastball. Game conditions and speed will break your technique down fast.

When I returned to campus, we had a few days before we began to practice. I was determined to be a starter on opening day, which was a few weeks away.

"Flip these balls as fast as you can," I told my best friend and teammate Milton.

Milton was from Puerto Rico, born and raised. Milton also spoke very little English. We were each other's first friends in college. I met him during orientation, and it went something like this:

Milton: "Yu pley beisbol?"

Me: "Hablas Español?"

Milton: "Si"

Milton reminded me of myself when I first came to the States. Like me, he was hungry to be a great baseball player. I was happy to be his Gabe.

Milton hurled the baseball at me as fast as he could from a very close distance. It was much faster than game speed.

I swung and missed at the first 3.

My sole focus was maintaining the technique I worked so hard on during the break: a slow and smooth stride towards the pitcher while maintaining my weight on the inside part of my back foot.

Finally, I started making contact. The following three days, we spent hours at the batting cage. Then came our spring practices. I remember our first intra-squad game vividly. It was my chance to shine. I had butterflies in my stomach as I stepped up to bat. On the mound was one of our better freshman pitchers, with a fastball in the low 90s. I stepped up to the plate and tried to emulate Miggy as much as possible.

Before the at-bat, I told myself that I was going to be aggressive. I would rather swing at a bad pitch than be passive, and I would trust my training to stop me from swinging if the pitch was bad.

As the pitcher wound up and launched the ball at me, I performed my load and stride in sync with his leg kick. Then I saw the baseball pop out of his hand.

The way the ball arrived felt like it was in slow motion; it was a peaceful sensation I'd never had before. I took a mighty swing at the ball and didn't feel it hit the bat (which happens when you hit it solidly).

I looked up. The ball traveled to the left-center field, the deepest part of the park. It was the hardest I'd hit a baseball up to that point with what felt like an effortless swing. I saw the ball hit the fence and watched the outfielders run after it as I rounded the bases. I stood on third base with a triple and a big smile.

In my next at-bat, I faced another of our better arms, a righty. First pitch fastball again, off the wall again. Double.

At this point, my coach noticed my swing changes and said, "Hey, man, you worked hard during winter break. Nice job."

I got two more at bats that game and had two more doubles, my best performance ever.

The following two weeks leading up to the season were a blur. I felt like I was reborn as a player, and my results showed it. I was hitting every ball hard.

To people on the outside, it likely seemed that I showed up as a better player magically. To me, it seemed like I was just on a hot streak. But that wasn't the case. I was putting in the work. And it showed slowly, then all at once.

That year, I started every game, won Rookie of the Year honors for our conference, and was a freshman all-American. The following two years were all-conference honors and put me in a position to play professionally. It wasn't a fluke. I put in the work.

These days, I'm more aware of the invisible progress that happens daily. Still, it's human nature to want instant gratification. I'm often frustrated by the lack of results I obtain for the amount of work I put in. Worthwhile results take time. We can speed up results sometimes, but escaping the inevitable time requirement is difficult. Results need their daily pay, the currency is time, and everyone must pay their dues.

The ones who deserve to succeed are the ones who trust their work and pay their dues until rewarded.