Off Balance: A Memoir

by Dominique Moceanu

  I just stood there before them, staring down at the green carpet beneath my feet. Tata could’ve beaten my seventy-pound body to a pulp. I would never have told them it was Janice who smuggled in my treats. They didn’t deserve to speak her name. I didn’t even want to look at any of them. Marta spoke next.

  “Okay, get ready for practice.”

  Time had frozen for me during this incident. Marta breaking the heavy silence served to remind me that I had been in the den for about half an hour receiving verbal and physical abuse.

  I ran out of the house. As soon as I passed the guard dog, I started sobbing. I sprinted back to the cabin even though I really wanted to run deep into the forest outside the ranch and never be found again. Horrible thoughts ran through my head. I wanted to get as far away from that place, the Karolyis, and my father as I could and never come back, but somehow I kept heading toward the cabin. I prayed for God to help me get through practice and the next few months before the Olympics. I had made way too many sacrifices to get to where I was, and I wasn’t going to let these cowards take my opportunity from me. After the Olympics, I thought to myself, I will be finished with this goal and I don’t have to see the Karolyis again.

  When I opened to the door to our cabin, I saw Kerri in the bathroom getting ready for practice.

  “What happened?” She looked scared and worried, her eyes as big as saucers. I know she probably thought she saw a monster barge through our door when Tata came to grab me. I didn’t have the heart or energy to tell her the details, both for her sake and for mine. I was drained. I moved in slow motion, putting on my leotard and putting my hair in a ponytail for practice. I still don’t know how I mustered up the strength to get through that afternoon session, but somehow I did it.

  Chapter 7

  JENNIFER

  I still wake up sometimes and wonder if it was all a dream—do I really have a “secret sister”? I sometimes literally shake my head in disbelief at what a whirlwind these past few years have been for me and my family: the birth of my children, the death of my father, and, after twenty years of being kept in the dark, the discovery of my sister Jennifer. Since Jennifer came into our lives in December 2007, I’ve spent countless hours daydreaming and reliving my childhood, picturing how different my life would have been had Jennifer been a part of our family growing up. I find myself imagining “what if” and “what could have been” over and over again. Sometimes I get so angry at my parents for knowingly separating us, and I can’t stop dwelling on what should have been. Other times, I am more sympathetic and understanding, and I can see that Mama and Tata actually believed they were doing the right thing for everyone concerned. The one certainty is that my sister Christina and I are grateful that Jennifer is finally in our lives today.

  We have been trying to catch up for lost time and learn as much as possible about Jennifer, but how do you cram twenty-plus years of life that’s been lived into the here and now? Every day, we uncover something new or surprising about Jen, who is truly an incredible and inspiring person.

  Jennifer was born in Salem, Illinois, on October 1, 1987. She grew up in Hardinville, Illinois, a town near the Indiana border that is so small I couldn’t even find it on the map. As Jennifer describes it, Hardinville had one four-way intersection with stop signs at the center of town and no stoplights. Quite a contrast to my childhood neighborhoods in Hollywood, Chicago, Tampa, and ultimately Houston, which has over 2.3 million people and lives by the motto “Everything is bigger in Texas!”

  Jennifer was adopted within the first few months of birth by Sharon and Gerald Bricker. Having now had the pleasure of knowing the Brickers, I understand how and why Jennifer has grown to be such a strong, confident woman. The Brickers are some of the most kind-hearted, down-to-earth people I have ever met. Sharon and Gerald had three sons: Brad, Brian (“Bubba”), and Greg, and had always longed for a fourth child, a daughter. Sharon wasn’t able to have more children, so they decided they would adopt a baby girl, and that’s how Jennifer entered their lives.

  The Bricker boys were fourteen, twelve, and ten years old when Jennifer came into the family. The brothers were excited and enthusiastic about adding a little sister. Brad, Bubba, and Greg absolutely adored Jennifer and doted on her. She was the princess of the family in the sense of being the only girl, and the boys were extremely protective of her, but they certainly didn’t treat her like a delicate little flower. They taught her to be tough, rowdy, and bold. That she had been born without legs was never considered a handicap to any of the Brickers, and from a very early age, Jennifer participated in every sport, game, or adventure that got in front of her. Alongside her three big brothers and neighborhood friends, she would jump off of things, climb trees, do handstands and flips, get dirty, and fling herself into any stunt or physical feat you can imagine that the most rambunctious young boy might do. Jennifer credits her brothers for teaching her to be fearless, and they are all still very close today.

  By the time of baby Jennifer’s arrival, Sharon had retired from the bakery where she’d worked when the boys were young and where she’d become known for baking the “best cakes in town.” Sharon was now a stay-at-home mom available to care for and nurture baby Jennifer full-time. Over the years, Gerald worked as a carpenter and also at oil refineries, which required heavy physical labor. The Brickers are a hardworking, loving family who stressed strong morals and family values. As Jennifer describes it, her home life was stable and full of love and support. She says her parents had minor arguments and bickered here and there like any other family, but they always “talked out” their problems, so there was never lingering tension in their home.

  Jennifer’s words, “talked out,” stuck in my mind. How I had wished my parents did more talking when I was young. I mostly remember Mama and Tata either arguing when they disagreed or not talking at all. And the tense moments in our home were far more common than the peaceful ones. Many of Christina’s and my childhood memories were plagued with fear, sadness, and occasional threats of violence. When I think about these painful times, I am happy for Jennifer that she had such a positive home life—and I can’t help but think that the Bricker home was a better place for Jennifer to grow up than mine was.

  Jennifer easily recites her mom’s daily routine from when Jennifer was a child: Sharon would wake early, around five or six in the morning, fix breakfast (usually bacon, eggs, and toast for Gerald), get the boys off to school, then spend the day with Jennifer. Her mom was an even-tempered, happy woman who cherished being a mother to Jennifer and her brothers and taking care of the house and family business while Gerald worked.

  Jennifer describes her father Gerald as “a strong man’s man, with a sensitive side.” Jennifer says that she and her father are similar in a lot of ways—hardheaded and strong-willed, but compassionate, too. Whenever Jennifer had an argument with her parents and stormed off to her room, especially during her teen years, her dad would always wind up coming to her room to talk to her.

  “Can we be friends?” her dad would say, to kick off the conversation, and they’d end up talking and working things out.

  What I wouldn’t have given for Tata to have said, “Can we be friends?” or anything even remotely similar to me, Christina, or Mama after one of our family blowups. Of course, in Tata’s defense, his “rule the house with an iron fist” mentality was clearly a rehash of what he had witnessed in his own home when he was a child. He grew up watching his father explode and become physically abusive to his mother; he rarely saw any love or kindness expressed between them. I know his history doesn’t justify or make it okay that he was abusive to us, but it does give me a better understanding of Tata and the world he came from. It’s very difficult to break free from that pattern of abuse, especially when you’ve been surrounded by it your entire life and haven’t had positive role models. I just wish things had been different in our home, for all of our sakes.

  When Jennifer reminisces and relives her childhood anecdotes with me now
, she often chuckles and smiles. She has so many joyful memories that I’m actually in awe at times. Right before I met Jen, I had a million questions and a million concerns, too. I wondered if she was lonely, growing up away from her two sisters, if she had felt abandoned by her birth family, or if she had had a difficult life of struggle because she was born with no legs. To know Jennifer now and see her as part of this tight-knit Bricker family, I realize how off-base my initial concerns were. Her life is almost the exact opposite of what I had imagined when I first heard from her. During our first conversation, I found myself thinking, Thank God someone was watching over her, so she didn’t have to suffer like Christina and I did.

  Jennifer attended public school ten miles from her home—in Oblong, another small town with a population of approximately two thousand. When she started kindergarten at Oblong Elementary School, the other children obviously noticed that Jennifer was different. Moving around in a wheelchair naturally drew attention.

  “This is the way God made me,” Jennifer would always respond matter-of-factly when other kids stared or asked what happened to her legs. That’s what her parents had always told her and that’s what she believed. No one treated Jennifer differently at home—she participated in every activity just like her brothers and was expected to contribute to the household chores and responsibilities just as her brothers did. She certainly didn’t expect anyone to treat her as “handicapped” at school, either. Jennifer recalls that within a very short time the other students were completely used to her. So much so that they’d often forget that she didn’t have legs. Growing up, Jennifer sometimes wore prosthetic legs that had been specially designed for her, but ultimately she felt that they slowed her down and stifled her, so she wore them only once in a while. I was shocked when Jennifer told me that her public high school was in a four-story building with no elevator. She climbed the stairs between classes just like everyone else and had a wheelchair stashed on each floor in case she needed it.

  To Jennifer, having no legs simply means that she may have to go about doing what everyone else does a bit differently, but it has never dawned on her to not do these things at all. Gerald and Sharon always taught Jennifer that “I can’t” is not part of their vocabulary, and it wouldn’t be part of Jennifer’s, either. Her parents instilled great confidence in her and nurtured her self-esteem from the start. Jennifer grew up believing she could do whatever she set her mind to.

  Sports was one of those things Jennifer gravitated to with gusto. Like Mama, Jennifer is a natural athlete, and since childhood she has demonstrated a high level of coordination and skill with almost anything she attempts. Jennifer loved sports and participated in almost every athletic activity offered from the time she was very young through high school. She did softball, basketball, volleyball, gymnastics, and tumbling, among others. Sometimes her parents would have to alter her equipment in order for her to play a particular sport, but they always seemed to figure it out. I’ve actually seen some of the Brickers’ home videos of Jen rounding the bases in softball and diving for a volley in volleyball. She’s always been a competitor. There wasn’t anything her parents ever discouraged her from doing, or at least trying. Even when Jennifer decided she wanted to roller skate with the other kids, her parents crafted makeshift skates that could attach to her hands and voilà, she was off!

  “If I had wanted to be a soccer player, I know my parents would’ve figured some way to help make it happen,” Jennifer has said.

  Jennifer says she was also very lucky to have had wonderful teachers who encouraged and supported her throughout her school years. All of her teachers had a positive impact on her in some way or another, but in particular, her fifth-grade teacher, Mrs. Sweat, stands out. Mrs. Sweat, an eccentric woman with big, wild curly hair and long fingernails, reinforced what Jennifer’s family had taught her about standing up for yourself even when it feels like the world is against you.

  Like it was yesterday, Jennifer shared with me a story about spending the day with her family at Holiday World amusement park in Indiana when she was about eleven years old. After waiting for hours to ride a roller coaster, she was immediately turned away once she reached the front of the line because she didn’t meet the height requirement. She felt this was unfair because she was tall and large enough to sit in the seat to be properly secured by the harness and seat belts the same as everyone else. Her body was actually bigger than those of many of the children on the ride. Jennifer would’ve understood if there was a safety concern, but she had previously been allowed on other roller coasters, some bigger and faster than this one. Her parents never would have allowed her to get on a ride where there was any doubt regarding safety. Had she been wearing prosthetic legs, she would have met the height requirement, but having them hang below her belted body in the roller coaster seat would not have made her any safer, just taller. The people operating the ride didn’t want to consider any of these particular facts. They took one look at Jennifer and told her she couldn’t ride. Period. She was never going to be able to reach the height requirement for this ride, even when she was an adult.

  The next day at school after Jennifer shared what had happened at the amusement park, Mrs. Sweat devoted a good part of the day to discussing discrimination and teaching the class why it’s wrong to judge or deny people rights simply because they “look” different. Jennifer was taken aback and deeply thankful for this lesson by her teacher. Moments like this reinforced Jennifer’s confidence and her belief that she should have the same rights as others even though she was born different. She decided that her adventures in life were not going to be decided by what other people perceived she could or could not do.

  Growing up with three older brothers, Jennifer was not only adventurous, she was a complete daredevil. Besides riding four-wheelers and rough-housing with her brothers, she’d scare her parents half to death by jumping off their second-story spiral staircase onto the living room couch below time and time again. She was also a skilled and agile climber and, with book in hand, she’d easily make her way up a big backyard tree to wedge herself between the branches and read for hours.

  As long as Jennifer can remember, she was a fan of gymnastics and would watch the US and international competitions and exhibitions whenever they were televised. She was drawn, in particular, to me, the littlest gymnast on the floor, and found herself cheering “little Dominique” on from the beginning. I reminded Jennifer of herself—we were both petite, with dark hair and eyes, and strikingly similar facial features. Jennifer knew she was of Romanian descent, like me, so she felt an even greater connection. She tells me she used to ask her parents if they thought she and I looked alike. I get goose bumps when she shares how she used to tell her parents that we looked “like sisters.”

  Jennifer watched all my televised meets, read books and articles about me, and declared to her family that she was going to meet me one day. It’s mind-boggling how our lives crossed as kids and have come full circle as adults.

  “I want to be a gymnast,” Jennifer announced to her parents when she was in second grade. With that, they enrolled her in gymnastics classes, which then led to tumbling classes.

  Jennifer’s entry into gymnastics coincided with the 1996 Olympics in Atlanta, where I reached my own goal of winning the gold medal alongside the other members of the Magnificent Seven. Jennifer tells me that watching me compete and succeed, even though I was so young and tiny compared to my peers in the sport, inspired her to start competing in gymnastics and tumbling. With her strength, coordination, and focus, Jennifer quickly excelled in tumbling, eventually competing over the next four years and winning various competitions in her age division.

  By the time she was twelve, Jennifer had become a small-town hero through her tumbling feats, having participated in four state meets, one in which she took the title of State Champion, as well as competing in three national meets and one Junior Olympic meet. Upon entering high school, Jennifer felt she had accomplished all she had set out t
o do in the sport of tumbling and was ready to tackle new challenges. She also looked forward to having more free time to hang out with her friends, do girly things like experiment with makeup, and just be a teenager.

  Jennifer’s positive outlook has served as an inspiration for me, even in the short time I’ve known her. She looks at life not as an obstacle, but as an opportunity. Clearly, because of her physical challenges, she has had to conquer a number of things on a daily basis that the rest of us don’t even think twice about, but she nonetheless moves forward with her trademark “no excuses” attitude, which I absolutely love!

  Chapter 8

  OLYMPIAN

  The time leading up to the 1996 Olympics was the most demanding and stressful of my career. The sport I had loved so much was slowly becoming a nightmare as I trained with Bela and Marta Karolyi the summer before the Olympics. I pushed myself as hard as I could, but I always felt like I couldn’t please them. I kept telling myself that they were just trying to get 100 percent out of me, like any decent coaches, but they were so out of tune with where I was mentally, emotionally, and physically that their tactics were having the opposite effect. I was already fiercely competitive and sharply focused on the goal of Olympic gold. I’d been in love with gymnastics forever, it seemed, and since my very first media interview at the age of nine, I had envisioned nothing more vividly than standing on the Olympic podium receiving my medal. That dream was almost a reality. After years of work and total dedication, it was so close I could taste it. Deep down, I loved gymnastics with all my heart, so I was devastated and confused when I began feeling apprehensive about walking into the gym each morning. Leading up to the most important competition of my career, I felt unprotected and vulnerable in training.