By Oscar De La Hoya, Steve Springer
Born right into a boxing relatives, the son of Mexican-born mom and dad, Oscar "the Golden Boy" De los angeles Hoya has lived the yankee Dream—achieving extraordinary good fortune in every thing from athletics to company, from the recording to varied charitable ventures. The winner of six global titles and an Olympic gold medal, he has defeated greater than a dozen global champions and has left a good mark at the recreation of boxing, inspiring many that had all yet given up desire. American Son is his story—a quintessentially American story—a frank, touching, and revealing memoir from some of the most celebrated warring parties within the historical past of boxing. it's the exciting story of an immigrant's son—the chronicle of an grand life's trip that gives new perception into the personal international and noteworthy occupation of a gentleman, an athlete, and a real nationwide icon.
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Additional info for American Son: My Story
He took comfort from being able, when his tedious day was done, to head to the gym to watch his sons work out. That gave him a great deal of joy. It brought back memories of his own father seeing him ﬁght and of the days when he himself could spend the majority of his time in a gym, honing his own skills. My mother was the quintessential homemaker. No matter how small our living space, she was constantly cleaning, dusting, washing dishes, doing our laundry. She would take all day to clean. My brother and I would wonder, How many times can she clean this place?
I kept moving. Come on, if I won the gold, who would dare take it away? When I got in the ring and saw Rudolph for the ﬁrst time since Sydney, I think I was more scared than I have ever been in my life. My heart was pounding like a drum. All the time I had spent giving myself a pep talk was wasted. I had built this guy up in my mind so much that when I saw him in the ﬂesh, he looked like a monster to me. Once the bell rang, though, my heart stilled, my mind sharpened, my determination overwhelmed my doubts, and I was able to concentrate on the game plan I had devised for him.
Not right away. Oscar–George II never happened. I didn’t want to be a ﬁghter. I was petriﬁed. I hated it, but I had no choice. Ultimately, my father was right. I did come to love something that had seemed so abhorrent to me. And that love did start in the gym. That’s because I didn’t connect the two at the time. The gym was just a fun place for me as a young child, a place to run around 32 Oscar De La Hoya with all the other little kids there, a place to climb in and out of the ropes, to awkwardly jump rope or reach up with my small ﬁsts and attempt to move a heavy bag that seemed like a skyscraper from my tiny perspective.