My parents never saw me play an athletic event. They never saw me give a speech….

When you have to feed 11 children, you don't have the luxury of taking time off from your second job to go to see your kid play football. Keeping the lights turned on in your home comes before sitting under the Friday night lights.

My dad worked hard to keep food on the table for my 10 brothers and sisters. It was never easy keeping up, but somehow my parents always found a way.

I remember how excited I was during my senior year in the fall of 1967. It was Parent's Night at the old Lexington High School Stadium, located behind Hite's Restaurant at the intersection of US 378 and US 1. The reason I was excited was that my father would finally be able to come to a game of mine.

It was impossible for both mama and daddy to be there. There were small children at home and to have both present would have required a baby sitter, which we simply could not afford. I was pleased that my dad would at least be there.

It was a major sacrifice, because he had to forego his second job to make it to a Friday night football game. That second job paid the light bill. That second job kept him from losing his home. That second job was the little bit of extra income that allowed us to survive.

I never felt badly that he could not see me play. I was, at best, a mediocre athlete. I took consolation in the fact that many of my brothers and sisters as well as my uncles, Arthur and Eli Mack, would always be in the stands. The Mack boys rarely made it for the opening kickoff because they closed Mack's Cash and Carry at 8:00 p.m. and, in those days, kickoff was at 8:00 p.m.

As the team place kicker, that was my moment to shine and I always took pride in being able to put the ball in the end zone. I was the last of the Lou Groza-style straight-on kickers. I learned if I could tie my cleat up on my kicking shoe, I could get an extra 15 yards of distance, allowing me to literally boot the ball out of the end zone.

Parent's Night is always special for any kid. Parents are introduced to the crowd and are asked to stand and take a bow. I knew my father could make it for that, but I also knew that he would have to leave immediately after the introduction to go to downtown Columbia to his second job as a bartender. That bartending job was bread for the table.

My dad never saw me play a single down; he left before I kicked off to Dentsville High School. We went on to win the game and I was thrilled for my teammates. As I walked home that night after the game, I thought to myself that if I ever had children, I would never miss their athletic or academic events.

Still, I understood that the part-time job he had working as a bartender helped feed my ten brothers and sisters. That part-time job kept the family afloat. My parents never saw me play a down of football or a single inning of baseball. They never saw me compete in the South Carolina Oratorical Speech Contest, which I was fortunate enough to win. They never saw me contend for the World Championship of Public Speaking, which I also won.

Now they are both dead and gone. Still, I am proud of the fact that when I take the platform anywhere in the world, they are in my audience cheering me on to do a good job… and to make them proud.

It was not until they died that they actually had a chance to see me give a speech. I'll always appreciate the sacrifices they made for all my brothers and sisters especially now that they can see for themselves how they have impacted my life, allowing me to touch the lives of others.