Somewhere along the road, I got the idea in my head that I wanted to be a world champion in wrestling. It started out as a small dream, more of a fantasy. Growing up, my reality wasn’t great, and dreaming was my escape. I was born in South Florida during the 80s, right when the crack cocaine epidemic took off. Unfortunately, my dad fell victim to it, and life as I knew it started to crumble.
We had a good life once—my dad worked at Kennedy Space Center, and we lived in a nice neighborhood. But then everything changed. My dad had legal trouble, and we fled to South Florida. Soon after, we were homeless. My mom was left to care for four kids while my dad’s addiction spiraled. We bounced between hotels and friends’ houses, struggling to make it through. My anger grew, and I got into fights constantly, to the point where everyone around me expected I’d follow my dad’s path.
Then in seventh grade, my math teacher noticed something in me. He asked, “You like to fight, don’t you?” and invited me to a wrestling practice. I was good—really good. I beat high schoolers as a middle schooler. But even then, I didn’t take it seriously. I was still wrapped up in the streets and my own anger.
By the time I got to high school, I realized I wanted more for my life. Wrestling was the one thing I was naturally good at, so I dove in. The first year was rough. I got beat by everyone. These kids had stable lives—beds, dads at home, electricity. Meanwhile, I was losing, and that made me angry. I decided right then that I wasn’t losing anymore. I trained harder than anyone. Up at 4:00 a.m. running, training at lunch, two practices a day, and staying late to work with Olympic-level wrestlers.
By senior year, I won a state championship and earned a scholarship to wrestle in college. I became a three-time All-American and won a national title. But setbacks never stop coming. After college, I taught to pay bills while still competing, determined to make the world team. I got close—medals, high placements—but at the world team trials, an injury in the semifinals ended my shot.
That loss was crushing, but as I was leaving the tournament, the head coach from the United States Olympic Training Center stopped me and offered me a spot. I finally had everything I needed—coaches, a place to train, sponsors. Wrestling took me all over the world, but by the age of 29, I realized I wasn’t going to make the world team. I made the difficult decision to retire and focus on my career in education.
Fast forward to today, and I’ve built a life beyond the mat. I’m a husband, a father, and have a house full of animals—two dogs, two rabbits, three goats, and 30 chickens. My career as an administrator has been tough—I’ve been bitten, punched, and spit on—but I’ve also helped hundreds of kids. Sadly, many more have been lost to gun violence, and that’s where I realized I needed a new approach to make a real difference.
That’s why I’m starting my life insurance business, Irving Life Solutions. This isn’t just about selling policies—it’s about creating opportunities. I’m building this business to employ young people, especially those like my students who need a path that’s not necessarily through college. Persistence has always been a part of my story, and now I want to help others persist and build futures for themselves.
Stay tuned—Irving Life Solutions is coming soon. It’s more than just insurance; it’s about creating possibilities and lifting others up.
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