Chuck Norris - Against All Odds: My Story

DEDICATION

To Rachel Joy Scott

A courageous victim of the Columbine High School shooting in Littleton, Colorado. Facing death itself, Rachel refused to compromise her faith in God. This poem, written by her father, Darrell Scott, aptly describes the problems we face, and provides the answer, for those courageous enough to believe:

Your laws ignore our deepest needs,
Your words are empty air.
You've stripped our heritage,
You've outlawed simple prayer.
Now gunshots fill our classrooms,
And precious children die.
You seek for answers everywhere,
And ask the question, Why?
You regulate restrictive laws,
Through legislative creed,
And yet you fail to understand
That God is what we need!

I also dedicate this book to the two most influential women in my lifemy mom, Wilma Knight, and my wife, Gena.

It is impossible to overestimate the tremendous impact Mom has had on me, modeling an unconditional love, coupled with tremendous faith in God. Thank you, Mom, for your spiritual guidance, for teaching me to look for the good in every person, and for living your life with such a positive attitudedespite the circumstances, against all odds.

And to Gena, my loving wife, my soul mate, the woman who helped me see afresh what really matters in life. This book would not exist had it not been for your faith, nor would our precious babies, and I know I would not be where I am with God without your love and encouragement.

Thank you! I love you!

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

J ust as filming a movie or a television series requires the assistance and expertise of numerous talented and dedicated individuals working together to accomplish a common goal, writing and publishing a book is a collaborative effort among many highly skilled and deeply committed people.

I am truly grateful to my wife, Gena, for encouraging me to write this book, and to Joe Hyams, for helping us with the first draft. A providential conversation with author Tim LaHaye led me to literary agent Mark Sweeney and writer Ken Abraham, two men who envisioned this book five years before we ever met! They not only helped me fulfill the vision of this book, but we have also become dear friends.

Special thanks to Ken Stephens, David Shepherd, Len Goss, Kim Overcash, Paul Mikos, and the tremendously enthusiastic sales representatives of Broadman & Holman Publishers. Thank you all for helping me to share my story.

Thanks, too, to my wonderful office staffMarie, Kim, Laura, Howard, Bobby and Cynthia, Margurita, and Ilonafor their tireless efforts in keeping everything going, making my life easier, and allowing me the time to work on this book.

Thanks to the administrative staff and instructors of KICKSTART for their hard work and dedication. They are impacting thousands of young lives across America.

Thanks to our family members and friends, and to the many people who have touched my life, encouraging me to use my God-given talents in positive ways.

Most of all, I thank God for being the driving force in my life!

All of Mr. Norris's profits from this book will be donated to KICKSTART, the organization he founded to help young people develop self-esteem and positive values through the martial arts. For more information, contact:

Chuck Norris
Top Kick Productions
18653 Ventura Boulevard, Suite 751
Tarzana, CA 91356
www.chucknorris.com

A WAKE-UP CALL

I could tell that something was wrong the moment I caught my security guard's eye. I was in Washington, D.C., seated on the dais as a special guest of the newly elected President of the United States, George W. Bush. About five thousand of the president's friendsmany of whom had played key roles in helping George W. Bush get electedwere in attendance, the men decked out in tuxedoes and the women in extravagant evening gowns. The first Presidential Dinner of the new administration had been a happy, gala affair, and I had enjoyed the evening immensely.

At about 10:30 PM, the President and First Lady said good-night and had exited the room, and I was getting ready to follow suit. I stepped off the platform, shaking hands and greeting each person as I made my way through the crowd. The room was filled with friendly faces, so it struck me as odd when I noticed my security guard, Phil Cameron, frowning and motioning in my direction. I knew something must be seriously wrong, or Phil would never interrupt me on such a momentous occasion. I wedged my way through the well-wishers until Phil and I were standing side-by-side.

We've had an emergency telephone call, Mr. Norris. Your wife is in the hospital; she's going into preterm labor.

What? That can't be! Gena is only twenty-three weeks along; she is nowhere near the thirty-eight weeks of a full-term pregnancy!

I don't know anything about that, sir. All I know is that she told me to contact you as soon as possible.

I rushed to the phone and called the hospital. The operator connected me to Gena's room, and when she answered, I could tell that she had been crying.

Sweetheart, I'm so sorry I'm not there with you. Are you OK?

I'm fine, but I needed to get to the hospital right away. They have to surgically close my cervix to save our babies.

I could tell by the quiver in her voice that Gena was trying desperately to hold her emotions in check.

Carlos, I'm scared, she admitted as she started to cry. I'm scared for our babies.

Honey, I'm calling the pilots right now. I'll be by your side just as fast as the jet can get me there.

We were expecting twins, a boy and a girl. Gena and I had already seen them on the ultrasound machine in the doctor's office, watching excitedly like two young kids ourselves as our babies moved around, bumping into each other in Gena's crowded womb. We'd even named them already; our little girl we named Danilee and our little boy, Dakota.

The pregnancy had been horrendously difficult for Gena. She'd given birth twice before, so she knew the ropes when it came to being pregnant. But carrying these two miracle babies had been a heavy load from the beginning. At several points along the way, we'd come close to losing the twins, or Gena, or all three of them. A beautiful yet tough woman, Gena had withstood several highly unusual medical challenges that threatened to end her life, or those of our babies. Had she not been mentally and spiritually strong, and in such excellent physical condition prior to becoming pregnant, her body might not have been able to endure the strain.

When the invitation from the President's office had arrived in our mailbox several weeks earlier, Gena and I were excited about attending. But as the event drew nearer, we realized it might be dangerous for Gena and our babies to be flying across the country from California to Washington, D.C., especially in light of the complications we'd already experienced during the pregnancy. We decided it would be best for Gena to remain at home, and I'd take my brother, Aaron, along with me, and our good friends, Dennis Berman, a successful Dallas businessman who had agreed to be our children's godparent, and John Hensley, the former head of US Customs. Phil Cameron, my personal protection officer, who often accompanied me to events where I'd be in large crowds, had flown ahead to Washington a few days earlier to make sure the details of my trip were in order.