Your dear old dad is still not “giving up” because there are just a couple of years left until I get out of prison.
I trained my daughter since the age of seven with her brother in our garage, which is a “combat sports gym” with everything needed to train 10 people at once. She was so tough that her hands were like “dynamite.” It was impressive—her speed with punches, especially when I worked the mitts with 5-punch combos. I’d call out a specific number, and she had my combos memorized. She was fast and tough. It got to the point where I had to have her train with boys only because the few girls in our gym couldn’t compete with my “BAMS.” So, I decided to get her an MMA fight in the cage. At the age of 12, she would take on a 16-year-old girl who, a month prior, had been the N.A.G.A. Champion for girls under 16. N.A.G.A stands for North American Grapplers Association.
So, my daughter’s first cage fight was against a champion. I called my former coach to ask if he was holding Friday night fights at his dojo that week, and he said “Yes,” but he wouldn’t be there—”Temo” would be running it. I said, “Cool” and hung up. I told my daughter, and she said, “Let’s go, Dad!” I had my wife get her hair ready and “tightened up.” We got her ready for the evening, and I started letting her know that we were going to represent our gym and team. I had her put on her team t-shirt, fight shorts, shin guards, mouth guard, and her favorite pair of 3 oz. MMA gloves. I told her they had a champion, and that’s who we wanted to “scrap with.” She replied, “Champion—ha, ok. Calm and ready.”
I got my shirt, told my wife and Jodi we were leaving, and my wife said, “You beat her down, ok Squeege, you can do it!” On the way to the dojo in Turlock, I told her, “You’re the BEST, and win, lose, or draw, we’re here to have fun and compete. No matter what, I’m here, and I love you. I’m so proud of you.” Once we arrived, I had her go in ahead of me so it seemed like she just came out of nowhere. She said, “I came to fight.” I walked in, and Temo saw me. I said, “That’s my daughter.” I saw a few familiar faces, and with both of us wearing our team jerseys, we were now invading dojo territory.
Temo asked if my daughter was ready to go or needed to warm up. I said, “Nope, we’re ready.” Then, their “champion” walked into the cage. I said to my daughter, “That’s her, Squeege.” She nodded and gave me a thumbs-up. I whispered in her ear, telling her, “She’s nothing. I want you to do exactly what she does in return, and once she gets close to you, throw (Vitor Belfort #3).” That’s a six-punch combo. We have “code words” for our combos and moves. She said, “Ok, Dad.” I kissed her on the cheek and went to her corner. The ref was Temo, and everyone’s attention was on the cage.
Temo started the “Ready, Set, Go!” The champion threw a kick, and my daughter replied with two kicks. After they exchanged kicks, I yelled out, “Mimi! 1/2-toe #3!” and bombs away. Their champion fell trying to take my daughter down. I yelled, “Royce Gracie #1,” and my daughter immediately tried for a rear-naked choke. But the champion started grappling and got my daughter in a headlock while both were on the floor. I said, “Squeegee, relax, don’t panic, breathe, and put your heel right on her tailbone and push. She’ll let go!”
I said, “And done!” I told her to punch her ribs and get off the floor! Once they were back up, my daughter kicked at her, and the bell rang. Round 1 was over. Now, everyone was watching, and there was another team in their house, going against one of their champions. I started cheering in the comments to support their champ. I asked my daughter, “How do you feel? Are you ok?” She replied, “I’m good, Dad. What do you want me to do?” I said, “No more kicks! Even if she throws them, try to catch her leg with one hand and punch her with the other. She’s scared of your punches!”
Oh, I forgot to mention, they weren’t wearing headgear. Round 2 began. This time, the champion tried kicking the whole time. I told my daughter to squat down low in a “low stance” when she kicks, shoots, or “gets” her leg down, and from side control, “Brock Lesnar” her. Well, she did everything except the “low stance” to shoot on her, and she caught a kick in the stomach. It knocked the wind out of her. My daughter went to one knee. I could tell she was hurt, so I waved off the fight.
I went into the cage, told my daughter to get up, and I helped her out of the cage. I thanked their champion and the coach. But before that, the ref told my daughter not to punch her in the face, which threw her off. I said, “What do you mean? They were both doing it.” Once that happened, I realized they were trying to stop my daughter from “beating” their champion. So, I waved it off because they saw from the shoulders that my daughter was going to whoop their champ.
On the way home, I told her, “I’m so very proud of you. You gave their champion a real scare. She’s 6 years older, and you’re only 12. I’m super proud of you. You made me the happiest dad in the world.” Once home, I was so excited to tell my wife and son how good “mom” did and explained how it ended. It’s not how you last that matters, it’s how you went into someone else’s ballpark and almost hit a home run with every pitch.
But the last thing I thought about that night, before I went to sleep, was that if something should happen to me, my daughter will be ok. She’s a “tough girl” and the girl version of her dad. I miss my kids a lot. I miss watching the pay-per-views and boxing fights together, eating homemade strombolis, training, making food together, and enjoying time as a family. It’s been almost 7 years without them or hearing from them, other than my friend telling me, “I saw your kids the other day.” I hope one day I’ll get a letter from them.
I’ve been left “alone.” I have no family other than my kids. Both of my parents have passed away, and the rest of my family lives in Argentina.
I love you both so much and miss you with all my heart. Please know that my incarceration is not your fault. Stay tough, stay smart, keep training, and most of all, stay full of love and be yourself. Don’t change for anyone. Remember all our conversations, our great monopoly days, our Thanksgivings. You both are very much my heart. My heart is sad, and at times, I want to give up. But I pray so hard in that sweat lodge that, a few times, I felt like I wasn’t going to make it out alive—but I did! I’m here. Your dear old dad is still not “giving up” because there are just a couple of years left until I get out of prison. Then I’ll be out to defend my voice, with my presence and my side of the story. Because there are two sides to every story. Just know that, no matter what happened between “me and the world,” the only thing that’s never changed is my clear devotion, dedication, and unbelievable love for both of you, my Irish-Twins!
