Post by Misha LeCavalier on Dec 8, 2016 18:16:43 GMT -5
OOC Note: Hey everyone. I began this series over at Code Red Wrestling; I posted the first one there. However, the fed closed down. I plan on continuing it, so I thought it would be best to post this first one up here. Therefore, please enjoy.
Entry #1
Early 2011
My name is Ethan LeCavalier, one of the many heirs to the mighty LeCavalier Dynasty. Since the moment my father’s sperm entered the egg, I was destined for greatness...
Now yes, I’m fully aware of how arrogant and foolish that statement sounds. However, that is the mentality of most of my family. It is not out of the norm; in fact, most of my cousins and elders would relay the very same message in a much more aggressive manner. Therefore, I make no apologies about what I said—I’m going to let it fly.
It is no secret that the surname LeCavalier has been traditionally synonymous with two things—professional wrestling and success. Therefore, let’s begin with the wrestling portion.
The easiest way to peak a child’s interest is make them comfortable; you must show them that there is nothing at all to fear. This is how the LeCavaliers foster and fortify the next generation of stars. Therefore, as a young tike, I was ushered into the world of professional wrestling, just my father (and his father) was. My father often took me to the gym with him. The facility that he enjoyed training in had two rings. The first was of standard size; the second was truncated (for us youngsters).
When I was of age, me and my cousin (Norman) trained together. And, when we both ready, we went out and conquered the world. Norman stuck to North America, primarily Canada and the United States. I decided to travel over to Europe. There, I blazed a trail in England, the U.K., and parts of Germany. I garnered a great deal of respect and recognition over there, and a fair amount of money to boot.
In short, I suppose I excelled in both professional wrestling and being successful. As I said before, that is the LeCavalier way, after all.
So, when my oldest child, Misha, was born, I did everything I could to instill those virtues into her. Although, even as child, she seemed to picked up on the success portion all by herself.
Misha was always a scholar. She loathed cartoons and children’s shows; give her a book, or turn the television to the Discovery Channel, and then you had made her day. Unlike the majority of her peers, Misha enjoyed school (she must have gotten that from her mother); therefore, she excelled at it. She was able to graduate both high school and undergraduate a year or so ahead of schedule.
I guess what I mean to say is this—based upon her academic prowess, she was going to be successful no matter what. I didn’t have to teach her that. So, as you can imagine, my task was to instill that wrestling portion into her.
And, sometimes, I regret doing that...
To be perfectly honest, I don’t feel that Misha never wanted to become a wrestler. In fact, I know she didn’t. As a child, her greatest desire was to become a doctor. She had every intention of blowing past undergrad and heading directly to medical school…
That was, until I stepped into her path.
As a young child, I scooped her up and brought her to the gym with me at every opportunity. That is how my father peaked my interest; so naturally, I assumed that would be true in Misha’s case. But, it really wasn’t.
There’s something that you’ve got to understand about us LeCavaliers as a whole. This explanation does not excuse my actions; however, it will provide some context as why I pushed her so hard in the direction of the sport. We LeCavaliers are not just another “wrestling family.” There seem to be a bunch of them popping up nowadays. We don’t just participate in the sport. No—ever since it’s creation, professional wrestling has run through our blood. Simply put, professional wrestling is part of our heritage; it is apart of our lineage.
Maintenance of said lineage requires that members from each generation step forward and uplift the family name.
My daughter’s generation is considered by most people in our family to be “thin and fragile.” This is because, honestly, there aren’t many people that fall into that generation; there are less than ten. It’s mostly comprised of my daughter Catalina, Misha, their cousin Ryan, and couple others. And at the time, Ryan has the only member of said generation who had taken that fateful step forward; and, that’s a great burden to bear alone. Misha is my first born. So, of course, I encouraged her to wrestle as well.
At first, she was reluctant…
Hell, she was more than reluctant. I believe Misha started training maybe two years after Ryan. She fought instruction every step of the way. Eventually, after getting her to train consistently for a period of time, she began to develop some type of connection with the sport. It definitely wasn’t love; it was more akin to a sense of like.
I’m not going to sit here and lie to myself. Yes, I essentially hassled her into wrestling. Yes, I forced her to forego her dreams of being a doctor. Yes, I forced her to pick up a mantel that she never had any desire to carry…
However, I did have my reasons. Were they sound? Likely not. Where they justifiable? Perhaps, perhaps not.
One of the major reasons I pushed for Misha to wrestle is because I had this grand assumption that she’d be mystifying in the ring. All of her life, I’d seen her thrive at various tasks when she set her mind to it. Therefore, I knew that if she gave wrestling an honest chance, and put her whole heart into, then she’d be amazing.
That theory was confirmed the first time I gave her instruction.
Misha wasn’t just “pretty good” in the ring—she was absolutely stunning. I’m not saying that simply because she is my daughter; I’m saying that because I’ve worked with and seen thousands of people run through this sport. Hell, my daughter was more talented with an ounce of training than people I had seen who had been working for years. So, even though she wanted to stop, I wouldn’t allow her to do so.
Back then, Misha was referred as a wrestling prodigy by most a great deal of veterans in Canada and Europe. Yeah, she was just that good. Her brain absorbed and soaked in wrestling knowledge at an alarming rate. Within a few months, there’s wasn’t much of gap between Ryan and Misha, as far as skills go.
She was destined for greatness.
About a month or so ago, I decided to call Misha. When she was working over in Europe I did my best to give her space; there’s nothing worse than trying to perfect your craft while your father is constantly breathing down your neck, right? However, maybe once a week or so, I’d give her a call just to check in with her. On this particular occasion, I found her frustrated and crying.
—Before I go on, there’s something you must understand. There are two things that are vital to Misha’s existence:
One, Misha is always in control of her emotions. Therefore, when she picked up her cell phone in tears, my mind immediately began to race. Honestly, I can’t even recall the last time I had seen or heard her cry. As a father, my heart began to break because I knew she was in pain. And number two, Misha is a perfectionist. Well, to state things more accurately, Misha is a perfectionist, and she has OCD. Coupled with professional wrestling, those two attributes can be particularly dangerous.
Over in Adica PRO, Misha was actually doing well. I’d often get phone calls from the promoter and other veterans. Sometimes they’d even send me her matches. They were good—hell, considering that amount she had been in the business, they were great.
To her though, they weren’t up to par. And because they weren’t up to par, she put a lot of pressure on herself. She trained harder than she should have; she wrestled harder than she should have. In short, she over exerted herself.
It may sound like I’m blaming her for that, I’m not. Once again, the blame is on me.
Misha internalized things, and she put a lot of pressure on herself, this much is true. But the reasoning, that’s what’s important. Like I said previously, Misha enjoyed wrestling back then, but she wasn’t in love with it. She did it because she knew it would make the family proud, and to make me proud. The weight of the entire world was on her shoulders, and it wasn’t because she wanted to be the very best—she did it because of me. She was killing her body and mind five days week because she was afraid disgracing the legacy that I had established over in Europe.
...I’m not too stupid or arrogant to see the writing on the wall. All the anguish, all the pain, this whole ordeal—it’s my fault, and mine alone. That is something that I’ll remember until the day I die; and who knows, it will likely follow me into the afterlife as well.
Of course, I’m referring to the reason why she called me that night—the incident.
A combination of the pressure and the amount of punishment she had taken in the ring caused her to resort to drugs. In particular, she began using Hydrocodone. I’m not even sure how she got a bottle of it in Europe without a perspection, but she did.
The night she called me was the culmination of a week of hell. Her tag team partner went back to Japan, she had just lost her first championship belt, and she had been attacked and injured. She took took Hydrocodone to cope with all the pain—but she needed up taking too much.
Misha was quickly rushed to the hospital. Neva and I were notified, so, we flew out and met with her. In the hospital, she was distressed, disorientated, and off kilter. And, instead of focusing on her safety and well-being, I remember being overly concerned about her finishing her tour…
God, am I an ass-hole.
There is more to the entire story. However, I suppose I don’t have to share everything in this first entry.
Now, I realize that this is a bit of cliff-hanger. And hell, I also realize that all this might sound jumbled and jagged to you, doctor. However, hopefully you can see why all this has been particularly difficult for me to deal with as well.
I feel ashamed…
I feel guilty…
I feel regretful...
Entry #1
Early 2011
My name is Ethan LeCavalier, one of the many heirs to the mighty LeCavalier Dynasty. Since the moment my father’s sperm entered the egg, I was destined for greatness...
Now yes, I’m fully aware of how arrogant and foolish that statement sounds. However, that is the mentality of most of my family. It is not out of the norm; in fact, most of my cousins and elders would relay the very same message in a much more aggressive manner. Therefore, I make no apologies about what I said—I’m going to let it fly.
It is no secret that the surname LeCavalier has been traditionally synonymous with two things—professional wrestling and success. Therefore, let’s begin with the wrestling portion.
The easiest way to peak a child’s interest is make them comfortable; you must show them that there is nothing at all to fear. This is how the LeCavaliers foster and fortify the next generation of stars. Therefore, as a young tike, I was ushered into the world of professional wrestling, just my father (and his father) was. My father often took me to the gym with him. The facility that he enjoyed training in had two rings. The first was of standard size; the second was truncated (for us youngsters).
When I was of age, me and my cousin (Norman) trained together. And, when we both ready, we went out and conquered the world. Norman stuck to North America, primarily Canada and the United States. I decided to travel over to Europe. There, I blazed a trail in England, the U.K., and parts of Germany. I garnered a great deal of respect and recognition over there, and a fair amount of money to boot.
In short, I suppose I excelled in both professional wrestling and being successful. As I said before, that is the LeCavalier way, after all.
So, when my oldest child, Misha, was born, I did everything I could to instill those virtues into her. Although, even as child, she seemed to picked up on the success portion all by herself.
Misha was always a scholar. She loathed cartoons and children’s shows; give her a book, or turn the television to the Discovery Channel, and then you had made her day. Unlike the majority of her peers, Misha enjoyed school (she must have gotten that from her mother); therefore, she excelled at it. She was able to graduate both high school and undergraduate a year or so ahead of schedule.
I guess what I mean to say is this—based upon her academic prowess, she was going to be successful no matter what. I didn’t have to teach her that. So, as you can imagine, my task was to instill that wrestling portion into her.
And, sometimes, I regret doing that...
To be perfectly honest, I don’t feel that Misha never wanted to become a wrestler. In fact, I know she didn’t. As a child, her greatest desire was to become a doctor. She had every intention of blowing past undergrad and heading directly to medical school…
That was, until I stepped into her path.
As a young child, I scooped her up and brought her to the gym with me at every opportunity. That is how my father peaked my interest; so naturally, I assumed that would be true in Misha’s case. But, it really wasn’t.
There’s something that you’ve got to understand about us LeCavaliers as a whole. This explanation does not excuse my actions; however, it will provide some context as why I pushed her so hard in the direction of the sport. We LeCavaliers are not just another “wrestling family.” There seem to be a bunch of them popping up nowadays. We don’t just participate in the sport. No—ever since it’s creation, professional wrestling has run through our blood. Simply put, professional wrestling is part of our heritage; it is apart of our lineage.
Maintenance of said lineage requires that members from each generation step forward and uplift the family name.
My daughter’s generation is considered by most people in our family to be “thin and fragile.” This is because, honestly, there aren’t many people that fall into that generation; there are less than ten. It’s mostly comprised of my daughter Catalina, Misha, their cousin Ryan, and couple others. And at the time, Ryan has the only member of said generation who had taken that fateful step forward; and, that’s a great burden to bear alone. Misha is my first born. So, of course, I encouraged her to wrestle as well.
At first, she was reluctant…
Hell, she was more than reluctant. I believe Misha started training maybe two years after Ryan. She fought instruction every step of the way. Eventually, after getting her to train consistently for a period of time, she began to develop some type of connection with the sport. It definitely wasn’t love; it was more akin to a sense of like.
I’m not going to sit here and lie to myself. Yes, I essentially hassled her into wrestling. Yes, I forced her to forego her dreams of being a doctor. Yes, I forced her to pick up a mantel that she never had any desire to carry…
However, I did have my reasons. Were they sound? Likely not. Where they justifiable? Perhaps, perhaps not.
One of the major reasons I pushed for Misha to wrestle is because I had this grand assumption that she’d be mystifying in the ring. All of her life, I’d seen her thrive at various tasks when she set her mind to it. Therefore, I knew that if she gave wrestling an honest chance, and put her whole heart into, then she’d be amazing.
That theory was confirmed the first time I gave her instruction.
Misha wasn’t just “pretty good” in the ring—she was absolutely stunning. I’m not saying that simply because she is my daughter; I’m saying that because I’ve worked with and seen thousands of people run through this sport. Hell, my daughter was more talented with an ounce of training than people I had seen who had been working for years. So, even though she wanted to stop, I wouldn’t allow her to do so.
Back then, Misha was referred as a wrestling prodigy by most a great deal of veterans in Canada and Europe. Yeah, she was just that good. Her brain absorbed and soaked in wrestling knowledge at an alarming rate. Within a few months, there’s wasn’t much of gap between Ryan and Misha, as far as skills go.
She was destined for greatness.
. . .
—Before I go on, there’s something you must understand. There are two things that are vital to Misha’s existence:
One, Misha is always in control of her emotions. Therefore, when she picked up her cell phone in tears, my mind immediately began to race. Honestly, I can’t even recall the last time I had seen or heard her cry. As a father, my heart began to break because I knew she was in pain. And number two, Misha is a perfectionist. Well, to state things more accurately, Misha is a perfectionist, and she has OCD. Coupled with professional wrestling, those two attributes can be particularly dangerous.
Over in Adica PRO, Misha was actually doing well. I’d often get phone calls from the promoter and other veterans. Sometimes they’d even send me her matches. They were good—hell, considering that amount she had been in the business, they were great.
To her though, they weren’t up to par. And because they weren’t up to par, she put a lot of pressure on herself. She trained harder than she should have; she wrestled harder than she should have. In short, she over exerted herself.
It may sound like I’m blaming her for that, I’m not. Once again, the blame is on me.
Misha internalized things, and she put a lot of pressure on herself, this much is true. But the reasoning, that’s what’s important. Like I said previously, Misha enjoyed wrestling back then, but she wasn’t in love with it. She did it because she knew it would make the family proud, and to make me proud. The weight of the entire world was on her shoulders, and it wasn’t because she wanted to be the very best—she did it because of me. She was killing her body and mind five days week because she was afraid disgracing the legacy that I had established over in Europe.
...I’m not too stupid or arrogant to see the writing on the wall. All the anguish, all the pain, this whole ordeal—it’s my fault, and mine alone. That is something that I’ll remember until the day I die; and who knows, it will likely follow me into the afterlife as well.
Of course, I’m referring to the reason why she called me that night—the incident.
A combination of the pressure and the amount of punishment she had taken in the ring caused her to resort to drugs. In particular, she began using Hydrocodone. I’m not even sure how she got a bottle of it in Europe without a perspection, but she did.
The night she called me was the culmination of a week of hell. Her tag team partner went back to Japan, she had just lost her first championship belt, and she had been attacked and injured. She took took Hydrocodone to cope with all the pain—but she needed up taking too much.
Misha was quickly rushed to the hospital. Neva and I were notified, so, we flew out and met with her. In the hospital, she was distressed, disorientated, and off kilter. And, instead of focusing on her safety and well-being, I remember being overly concerned about her finishing her tour…
God, am I an ass-hole.
There is more to the entire story. However, I suppose I don’t have to share everything in this first entry.
Now, I realize that this is a bit of cliff-hanger. And hell, I also realize that all this might sound jumbled and jagged to you, doctor. However, hopefully you can see why all this has been particularly difficult for me to deal with as well.
I feel ashamed…
I feel guilty…
I feel regretful...