Float Like a Butterfly, Sting Like a Bee

Muhammad Ali was an influence on my early development. I was eight years old and living in Chicago the first time I put on a pair of boxing gloves. My uncles had bought two pairs so they could put us kids to fight while they bet on the matches. At first, they had me and my cousins fight each other. They quickly realized I was good at it.

I was a big fan of Muhammad Ali. Although he was at the tail end of his career when I was a kid, I still saw him win his third heavyweight championship of the world. I remember seeing his fights on Wide World of Sports on ABC. I would watch as he clowned around while being interviewed by Howard Cosell.

Now English is a second language for me. Therefore, I was extra attentive when watching television. I was tired of getting made fun of at school for my Spanish accent, so I practiced speaking by repeating what people would say on TV. My favorite Ali quote was, “float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.” Whenever I was ready to fight, I would say these words over and over.

They would show highlights of Ali’s previous fights and I would be glued to the television set. I watched his style of fighting. I watched how he danced and glided across the ring. I watched how he dodged jabs. I watched how he protected his face. I watched how he absorbed big blows to the body. Then I watched how he sized up his opponents and attacked with a flurry of punches that can bring anybody down.

I was good at seeing something and being able to repeat it. Watching Ali gave me a framework and I used it successfully. I won every time I fought. Beating on my cousins made me feel bad, so my uncles started getting other kids from the block to fight me. I beat them all too.

Then, in the middle of a fight, my mother busted us. She was beyond pissed. She yelled at my uncles as they begged and pleaded to let them take me to a boxing school. They tried to convince her by telling her I was a natural born fighter and undefeated. She didn’t want to hear it. Her concern was my safety and she didn’t want her boy coming home bloody, bruised, cut up or with a broken nose. She was the boss and her word was final. No boxing for me.

Who knows what could have been had my mother allowed my uncles to take me to boxing school at the age of eight. Golden Gloves champion? Olympic champion? Light Heavyweight champion of the world? Doesn’t matter. The truth is that short stint with the gloves on made me feel powerful. I felt invincible. Like Muhammad Ali.

The impact Ali had on me was undeniable. He influenced me mentally. I wanted to speak eloquently, as he did. By watching him and listening to him, he taught me the importance of confidence. And that’s a lesson that allowed me to survive the concrete jungle known as the inner city. My confidence and eloquence were just two of the tools in my kit that helped me outlive and outlast the world I was thrust into at an early age that was overrun by gangs, drugs and violence.

I wish I still had my Ali action figure. I remember pushing a button in the back and he would throw punches. The doll even came with an Everlast boxing robe. I had other action figures like the whole set of Superfriends and G.I. Joe. When I would put them to fight, Ali would whoop all their asses, even Superman.

Muhammad Ali may be gone now. However, when I close my eyes I still see him floating like a butterfly and stinging like a bee. Thank you champ.