Off Balance: A Memoir (2 page)

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Touchstone

A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com

Copyright © 2012 by Dominique Moceanu and Paul Williams

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Touchstone Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

First Touchstone hardcover edition June 2012

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.

Designed by Akasha Archer

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Moceanu, Dominique, 1981–

Off balance / Dominique Moceanu with Paul and Teri Williams.

p. cm.

“A Touchstone Book.”

1. Moceanu, Dominique, 1981– 2. Women gymnasts—United States—Biography. 3. Gymnastics—Social aspects. I. Williams, Paul. II. Williams, Teri. III. Title.

GV460.2.M63A3   2012

796.44092—dc23

[B]

2011040276

ISBN 978-1-4516-0865-6

ISBN 978-1-4516-0867-0 (eBook)

To my dear husband, Michael, you have shown me that old scars can heal and have helped me reignite my passion for gymnastics. My love for you is timeless
.

To the city of Cleveland, for accepting and treating me as one of your own, and providing the ideal backdrop to raise my family
.

To the gymnastics fans who have stood by me, I am honored by your continued support. Your loyalty has been one of the highlights of my career. To those who have always told me to write a book, well, here it is!

—Dominique

Table of Contents

O
NE
:
Sisters

T
WO
:
Camelia

T
HREE
:
Awakening

F
OUR
:
The Letter

F
IVE
:
Tiny Dancer

S
IX
:
The Karolyis

S
EVEN
:
Jennifer

E
IGHT
:
Olympian

N
INE
:
Emancipation

T
EN
:
Dark Times

E
LEVEN
:
Jennifer: Flash Forward

T
WELVE
:
Enter Mike Canales

T
HIRTEEN
:
The Comeback Trail

F
OURTEEN
:
Family

Acknowledgments

Photographs

Off Balance

Chapter 1

SISTERS

W
hen you have traveled the world, won Olympic gold,
and
gone through a very public court battle against your parents all by the age of seventeen, surprises don’t come easy. Discovering my sister Jennifer, though—
that
was a surprise.

On December 10, 2007, I found out that I had a second sister. I was nine months pregnant and about to take my college semester finals. With swollen feet and body parts bigger than I had ever imagined possible, I couldn’t even squeeze into a school desk anymore. But earning a college degree was a promise I had made to
myself—and third trimester or not, I was going to get those finals done.

Cleveland was cold, rainy, and gray in a bona fide Ohio winter way. All I wanted to do was finish my exams, cuddle up under a blanket with some hot chocolate, and wait for the imminent arrival of my firstborn. But alas, that was not yet in the cards. I was headed for a study session right after a quick stop at the post office.

Earlier in the week, I’d missed the delivery of a piece of certified mail, and the notice had been sitting on my desk for several days. Lugging my backpack full of business textbooks to my car, I felt baby give me a stern kick. I almost lost the certified letter notice in a cold gust of wind and rain. Little did I know, this tiny three-by-five-inch piece of paper would turn my life—past, present, and future—upside down.

As a competitive gymnast, my life has always been filled with challenges that would ultimately define my future. From day one, I was taught to be prepared at all costs. And yet, pulling into the post office parking lot that day, I couldn’t have been more unarmed, unguarded.

After finding my place in line, I did finally wonder
who
might have sent me a registered letter. Only my family and personal friends used my home address. Looking out a nearby window, I saw that the rain was getting heavier. I needed to get home. I couldn’t afford to dawdle at the post office. The holiday season lines were longer and slower than usual, and I was getting antsy just standing there when I had so much to do. It seemed that everyone but me was sending packages or cards to relatives across the globe.

I finally got to the front of the line, received my package, and walked out into the rain.

As I awkwardly tried to dodge puddles, I stole a peek at the label on the envelope. The bubbly cursive letters seemed so personal, but the name on the return address was completely
unfamiliar to me. Back in my car I tore open the package and pulled out a cluster of items: a typed letter, a bundle of photos, and some court documents.
Please tell me I am not being sued!
Then I caught a glimpse of something familiar on one of the documents—my mother’s and father’s handwriting.

The cover letter was a page and a half of cleanly typed words, unequivocal in meaning, straightforward in sentiment. But my head began to spin as I struggled to make sense of even the simplest words.

I’ve known my whole life that I was adopted … and that my biological last name was Moceanu
.

I read the letter slowly—again and again. Breathless and stunned, I sat behind the wheel, staring out the window at the cars driving in and out of the parking lot—a stream of mothers, grandmothers, uncles hurrying in the rain with their holiday packages.

Her name was Jennifer and apparently she was my long-lost sister given up for adoption by my parents in 1987. The letter explained that Jennifer had always known that she was of Romanian heritage, but that it wasn’t until she was turning sixteen that her adoptive parents decided to share the details of her birth. They revealed to her the names of her biological parents, and me, her biological sister. She wrote that she had been waiting four years to contact me directly.

I feel that I have one chance to show you and prove to you that I’m not some crazy person … I’m sure after seeing all of the papers, you’ll see that I’m serious
.

Is this possible
? I thought. I tried to think back to 1987. I would’ve been six years old when Jennifer was born. Was my mother even pregnant? Why couldn’t I remember? My life has
been one bizarre adventure, filled with highs and lows, one headline after another … but a secret sibling? I sat in my car for what seemed like hours, repeatedly examining the contents of the package. The information was presented meticulously, like a jigsaw puzzle, each piece carefully and intentionally placed next to the other. The evidence was overwhelming.

The photographs hit me the hardest. The girl in the images looked exactly like my younger sister, Christina, born in 1989 when I was almost eight years old. Eventually I could see that while it was definitely not Christina, there was no doubt that she was a sister nonetheless—
my
sister. The resemblance was uncanny.

I have another sister!

How could something like this be kept a secret?

I was an only child for the first eight years of my life. My parents, Romanian immigrants, struggled to provide me a better life than the ones they had left in their homeland. They worked hard to give me every opportunity in life, and once I showed natural talent as a young gymnast, they spent every last penny on my training. My father (“Tata”) often worked several jobs just to meet the financial burden of my escalating coaching and gym costs. My parents even relocated our family from city to city and state to state whenever necessary to meet my evolving gymnastic needs. According to Tata, I was destined for greatness, so I did my best not to disappoint my parents. By the age of seven I was a serious, committed gymnast, and by the age of nine I was receiving national attention and regarded as one of America’s hopefuls. Standing on the podium at the 1996 Olympic Games in Atlanta and receiving a gold medal was the crowning jewel in a successful gymnastics career and, most certainly, the confirmation that my parents’ sacrifices were not in vain.