Childhood Dreams

Now some people will think okay where in the world would a person like I get the courage or the guts to try out for the US team. I have always been a little on the wild side. That is probably why I have

earned the nickname the crazy yugo.

I grew up in Belgrade Serbia, formally known as Yugoslavia. I am

the oldest of two and my parents Berislav and Miroslava always taught me to use my imagination.;Especially my father. Every night my father would tuck us into bed creating a bedtime story that he

made up which kept us entertained till we fell asleep. He encouraged us to reach pass the stars and focus on the heavens. The Sky was the limits and we can create our own dreams.

The thing was I really did have big dreams. At one point in my life I wanted to be a war journalist and be down in the trenches and report amidst the chaos. That is when I told my father I wanted to go to Romania and report on what’s happening. The Year was 1989 and their president Nicolae Ceausescu was punishing their people for defying his order. The people were starving as the war was happing outside their window. I told my father that I wanted to go there and report back myexperience of what was going on to my classmates. His response was if you find a way we will go.

That was an open invitation to my imagination to run wild. The very next day I spoke to the principle

and told him I was collecting food for the people of Romania and that I needed the school’s assistance. I

was allowed to go to each class room and speak to them about donating to the starving nation. To my

surprise the food started rolling in. I was able to pack my bedroom with food piled high for my cause.

My father who traveled quite a bit was away and did not have the slight idea of what was happening at home. When he did return my mother politely asked him to peek in my bedroom to see what I had

done. The man was shocked and astonished and did not remember our discussion. This was my way to

get to Romania and follow my dream.

The following day we packed up our red Renault 4 with all the donations and made our way to

the boarder. My father thought that getting to the boarder would complete his task but he was very

mistaken. I wanted to get into Romania and personally deliver my accomplishments. So at the boarder

we received a personal guide who allowed us to get to the Red Cross in Romania. We drove past several

bullet ridden homes with people begging for food. We were also able to experience a candle light vigil

placed in the middle of the street. We were very fortunate not to get shot at during this awe inspiring

moment. We did however see how our donation assisted this poor nation.

Upon our return I was hailed as a true hero for doing what I did. Both my father and I were
interviewed by several news originations and newspapers. I was even chosen as hero of the month
which we called “grand prix.”