Annetta Lucero's Life Story-

Hello friends! Many of you know Annetta Lucero, the twirlsport artist. She is one of the most amazing, most inspirational twirlers of all time. A former world champion, Annetta is in her early 40's and still booking a job in the arts every day.

Please take the time to visit her website, AnnettaLucero.com. Take a few minutes to Youtube her videos too- there are dozens that show her awesome athletic ability and how her artistry evolved over the years.

Annetta is currently writing her autobiography. In helping her edit (which basically consists of adding a few commas here and there, since she is also a gifted storyteller and writer), I have already learned so much more about this versatile artist. I have a feeling that her book is going to appeal massively to twirlers, dancers and athletes, but also to survivors, dreamers, and, well...almost everyone. I get excited any time I see an e-mail in my inbox that contains another piece of Annetta's life story. She has recently released two excerpts and I am including them here. I sincerely hope that when this book is published, all of you will read it and be inspired by Annetta's life.

"Believe"

My yearlong sentence to the hell that was Rhode Island ended and my mom, cat and I once again conquered the highway and found our road home to Southern California. I enrolled in my former elementary school, reacquainted with my few friends and trudged forward with my practice regimen and now-tainted childhood existence. My hair had grown out to a shaggy, who-gives-a-shit length and I can see from my photos of that era I had a very haunted look in my eyes. It was a look that even a smile could not disguise. I was no longer a problem in school. I was more . . . invisible.

One day, while on our back patio grinding out my daily twirling routines after school, I heard the doorbell ring. This was unusual, as nobody ever visited.

I heard a man’s energetic, booming voice and my curiosity got the best of me. Peeking around the corner I saw a man in a funny, ill-fitting suit opening a big black case. My mom, proclaiming her disinterest, was powerless to stop him. When he pulled out the contents from the mysterious case it was as if the heavens opened and I heard a chorus of heavenly hosts lifting their voices just for me. I may have actually seen a giant sun ray beaming through the front window, highlighting the most amazing treasure I had ever seen. AAAAAHHHHHHH!!!! My eyes actually lit up. The cheesy salesman lifted the heavenly object to his chest, strapped it on and began playing a magnificent polka. That sealed the deal for me. Although I already had practice responsibilities beyond any average 9 year-old kid I begged my mom to sign me up for the six week, door to door accordion rental and lessons. Did she give me the “if you sign up you will stick with it for a year without complaint” speech? YES. Did she make sure I understood that I would practice this skill for a minimum of a half hour per day, everyday? YES. Did I tell her that I had found my calling in life, I couldn’t live without this heavenly instrument and I would become the most famous accordion player of all time? ABSOLUTELY.

And so it began.

I loved playing the accordion. I practiced more than my assigned time and I was quite a natural. The small white rented accordion was sufficient and I was satisfied with my blossoming music career. During an outing to purchase sheet music I spotted something that obliterated my contentment. Displayed in a faux black alligator case was the largest, shiniest, most impressive accordion I could have ever imagined. Pearly, iridescent keys that spanned miles, so many black button chords I couldn’t even count them, so large, so beautiful . . . my eyes swirled like a Bugs Bunny cartoon. “MMOOOOOMMM!” I yelled through the store. “THIS is my LIFE!! I MUST have it!” My mom gazed at the atrocious instrument and with a lump in her throat she sadly stated, “honey, this is $600. We just can’t afford it. EVER.” Oh no! On the silent drive home my mind was racing. How can I get that king of accordions? There must be a way. I can be sold for child labor. No. How? How . . . “MOM! I’ve got it!” I squealed with joy. Christmas is only two months away. SANTA can bring it! Santa doesn’t have to pay for it!” What an awesome idea! My world was complete again. I just had to wait two months and that magic man would deliver my dream come true right to my living room. Now my mom didn’t have to worry. After all, we were on welfare and received food stamps. $600 dollars in two months was more than her hard-earned paycheck supplied. Thank goodness I had Santa!

As the weeks rolled on, my conversation always found its way back to the beautiful accordion. I visited Santa at the mall and described in detail the gift he was to deliver. Knowing how special it was, I informed him I would hold no grudge if it was my only gift. Things were going great for me. For some reason my mom was working a tremendous amount of hours and I was able to cheat on my practice chart, completely bamboozling the babysitter who knew nothing about baton twirling. About a week before Christmas my mom sat me down for a serious talk. “Ned, honey...is there anything else you can think of that you would like more than the accordion?” Easy answer, "not a chance.”

My mother blinked. "Well, I know it is a big deal to you and I just don’t want you to be too disappointed. I think the elves may not be able to build the kind you want. It is very detailed and large.” I was undaunted, though. “Oh, don’t you worry mom. Santa will bring me the perfect accordion. I believe it.”

Christmas Eve was exciting. I couldn’t go to sleep. I lay in the hall facing the tree, waiting. I was determined to see how the hulking gift would be delivered. Of course, I eventually nodded off. When morning came there was a giant gift wrapped in the most beautiful paper I had ever seen. Even though I knew it would be there, I have never been so giddy. Tearing through the paper my heart was racing. Oh My Gosh! There it was. THERE IT WAS! Yes! It looked exactly like the one at the music store! Santa was the smartest, best, nicest, most generous, amazing guy EVER!

I couldn’t stop talking about how great he was! My mom was kind of tired, but had a satisfied look on her face. I tried to motivate her by giving her a lecture on the power of BELIEVING! Then I hammered out song after song in an effort to help her stay wide awake all day!

"Baton Twirling"

I am a baton twirler . . .

Okay, stop yourself right there. I know you just conjured up an image of a smiling cheese ball in a cheerleading costume marching in a parade. Do you really think that all of these hours of practice, sacrifice, blood, sweat and tears I have been eluding to thus far are for the benefit of neighborhood parade attendees drinking beer and cheering on the local senior citizen garden club? PAALLLEEAASE! I was born into a family of baton twirling nuts. I was raised and trained to live and breathe the sport of baton twirling. I am an elite dancer and floor exercise gymnast. I can remember more routines, tricks, and series of movement than any math scholar on the planet. I am an athlete, artist and sports psychologist all wrapped up into one skinny, strong, baton-slinging body. And I’ve got big news for you. I am not alone.

Twirling was HUGE in the 70’s and 80’s. Competitions lasted for days and were so ferociously stacked with talent that any one of the top ten at Nationals could have been the champion. At the State championships, my single age division boasted more than a hundred entries. Just to get to the final round you had to make it through several preliminary age cuts. The top three then moved on to compete against the top three from the other age divisions in your category. For example, the Juvenile division was comprised of 9-10-11 year olds. Top three nine year olds competed against top three ten and top three eleven year olds. THEN, the single champions from each Division would compete against one another for the Grand title. In the end ONE Champion was left standing as the winner.

If you won Grand at Nationals you were a fricking GOD. You were awarded the DIAMOND CUP (a monstrous trophy bejeweled with five real diamonds) and you were plastered on the cover of TWIRL Magazine! (Insert angelic chorus here.) And that was just USTA!

USTA is the United States twirling Association. It's a very well-run organization that has flourished since the 1960’s. It was a branch off of the OTHER original twirling organization, NBTA, National Baton Twirling Association. NBTA is a mega federation of countless twirlers. NBTA was less concerned about “technique” and more focused on speed, tricks and showmanship. The two organizations were brutal enemies back in the day. It was political suicide to jump from one to the other and the style differences between the two organizations made it nearly impossible to win in both. Only one person had ever succeeded in capturing both Grand titles: Cathy Fujymi. (You may bow humbly to the ground now.) Cathy Fujymi was the untouchable deity of my dreams. She lived in my imagination. She was real but I had never seen her. My mom told me magnificent stories about her. “She caught a 6 spin, split leap pull out on the grass!” “She has a roll named after her, the Fujymi Roll!”

For your quick education I will tell you that

SPINS= the amount of pirouette turns your body completes under a tossed baton.

ROLLS= The tricks that roll on and around your shoulders, arms and neck. It looks like a magnet is holding the baton there as it twirls.

CONTACT MATERIAL= The super fast low tossed flips and whips that build speed in your routine.

BREAKS= Penalty. When the baton stops and jerks unintentionally rather than flows.

DROPS= Obvious. Go kill yourself now. You’ve lost and your mother is coming to beat you senseless.

Anyway, Cathy Fujymi was IT for me. My hero. My fantasy. My reason for daydreaming that one day I might, on a fluke, make the top three in my age division at State. Nobody could ever be arrogant enough to think that the accomplishments of Cathy Fujymi could possibly be matched. To do that, somebody would have to be strong enough to bust through political boundaries, be ten times better than everybody else athletically, be be persistent, confident, superior in every way . . . wow . . . I would have loved to been able to catch even a glimpse of someone like that. They would probably come from a great family with lots of money, they’d have beautiful costumes and they would definitely be trained by the perfect coach.

Anyway . . . back to me.