Lisa credits her father, Antonio, 67, a onetime amateur baseball player in Cuba, and her mother, a native of Puerto Rico, with nurturing her love of softball from an early age. As a youngster Lisa was batgirl for her parents’ teams in a recreational softball league in Lakewood. After games, she’d beg her parents to stay and play.

As their daughter became more accomplished in the sport, the Fernandezes supported her ambitions. They ignored the neighborhood naysayers who questioned why they were encouraging their child—a girl—to play a boy’s game. “I turned my back on all the critics,” says her father. “I didn’t care what anyone said. She wanted to play.”

“We never did the family vacations to Hawaii,” Lisa says. “When we ate out, we went to McDonald’s.” When a youth softball tournament would be held in Oklahoma, for example, they would all pile into the family car for the long drive. Lisa’s parents were proud when her athletic ability won her a scholarship to UCLA, but they never dreamed she would reach the Olympics.

When Lisa won a gold medal at the 1996 Games in Atlanta, it was a dream come true for the family. The 2000 Games in Sydney, Australia, were a different experience. Heavily favored to win, the U.S. team stumbled. Lisa, a pitcher and third base player, gave up a hit—which turned out to be a home run—while on the mound. She told her parents they should just go home. “It was devastating,” Lisa says. “I didn’t want to put them through that experience.”

Go home? No way.

“I remember seeing her looking up at us in the stands after giving up a home run and just putting her head down,” Emilia says. “She was in tears after the game. She thought she embarrassed us.… We just gave her a hug and a kiss. We told her we loved her and that she could never embarrass us. And there’s always tomorrow.”

The 2000 team made a remarkable comeback to take the gold. In 2004 Lisa led the team in hitting and pitching, and was in the circle as pitcher in the gold medal victory against Australia. She hopes to play again in the 2008 Olympics in Beijing.

As always, her parents plan to be there, offering encouragement and support, as well as occasional batting tips. “She’s a line-drive hitter,” says her mother. “I remind her not to let it get to her head when she hits a home run.”

Sacrifices and Unconditional Love
Many Olympians can tell moving stories about how their families made many small sacrifices for their athletic careers: the driving back and forth to practices and competitions, the fees for private lessons. But more than anything else, there’s the unconditional love parents gave them to achieve their wildest dreams.

Photo: Nick Laham/Getty Images Sport

Steven Lopez may never have made it to the Olympics if his father hadn’t been a stubbornly early riser. Every morning at 5:30, Julio Lopez would rouse his four young children out of bed for an exercise session in the garage of their family home in Sugar Land, Texas. On chilly mornings, they’d turn on the clothes dryer for warmth.

After school and dinner, the family would go to the garage to practice tae kwon do. At first, Julio, a Nicaraguan immigrant, would teach moves he picked up from videos and books. In time, his eldest son, Jean, took over as coach. You could tell by the shouting and smashing sounds coming from the garage that the Lopezes were serious about the sport. “They’d punch holes in the walls,” Julio, now 61, says with a laugh. “I’d patch them, and every week there would be new holes.”

Steven, 26, won gold medals in tae kwon do at the 2000 and 2004 Olympics. His younger brother and sister are also world-class athletes in the sport; they just missed making the 2004 team and are aiming for 2008.

Julio steered his children toward martial arts for the reason many parents do—he thought the sport would teach them self-discipline and how to defend themselves against bullies. He never dreamed they would reach the Olympics.

‘They’d punch holes in the walls. I’d patch them, and every week there would be new holes’

Those all-family workouts bred competitiveness among the children, but also a powerful family bond. The family remains tight—the three youngest Lopez children, including Steven, all still live with their parents. “All my children kick together,” their father says. “They are brothers and sisters, but they’re friends, too.”

Julio worked full-time as an engineer to support the family, but he made it a point to attend his children’s workouts and competitions. He never had the time to learn tae kwon do himself until he was in his 50s. Now he has earned a red belt, one of the highest levels in tae kwon do.

He says his “heart starts beating fast” whenever he recalls the first time his son won Olympic gold in Sydney. “I was crying like a baby,” he remembers. “It was so beautiful.”

Julio says the only thing that topped that first-time feeling was when he saw Steven win gold again, this time in Athens last year. “The second gold medal was even more amazing,” he says.

“When I go into the ring, I’ve got my whole family with me,” says Steven. “It almost feels like an unfair advantage.”

Unlike his father, who according to Steven “loves the limelight,” and traveled to both Athens and Sydney to see his son win gold, his mother, Ondina, remained at home for both Olympics. Too nervous that her son might get hurt to watch him compete, she stayed behind to light prayer candles and wait for the overseas call to learn how he did.

“My family has always been there for me,” Steven says, even when that meant making personal or financial sacrifices. “They cut corners everywhere to help fulfill their children’s dreams. That’s a reason why it has been so gratifying to win the gold medals.… I want to let them know that all their work has paid off.”