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Velasco's happy ending unclear

Riverview senior Rocky Velasco wants to play college football or join the military, but until he stops having seizures, his future is uncertain.

By FRANK PASTOR

© St. Petersburg Times, published April 3, 2001

GIBSONTON -- Anthony Velasco's darkest moments start with dizziness.

He begins to sweat. His stomach lurches, his ears ring. Blackness clouds his sight. He wakes up in a hospital.

The Riverview senior, known as "Rocky" to his friends, has had 13 of these seizures in the past 11 months. On the football field. In the school cafeteria. In the trailer he shares with his grandfather.

In 18 years, Velasco has seen his parents divorce, then float in and out of jail. Money for college was never even a dream. His chance at a future lay in a scholarship or the military.

Three years of work in the classroom and on the football field have earned him a chance at college and a better life. It's as close as signing his name to a sheet of paper.

But first, he has to battle his latest demon.

Ten months ago, Velasco was perfectly healthy. He was an outstanding wrestler and football player. And he and his grandfather had a plan for escaping the small trailer on a plot of land they share with two cows in rural Hillsborough County.

Now, he sees a neurologist every other month. He takes anticonvulsants in increasing dosages. And his future is filled with fear and uncertainty.

Velasco stands 6 feet 3, weighs 270 pounds, bench presses 315 and is scared to death.

He doesn't know what causes the seizures, what happens during them or when or if they will stop.

All he knows is they threaten everything he and his grandfather have worked for.

Joe Skrzypek (pronounced SKRY-pek), a retired towboat captain, had a simple plan when he took in his grandson three years ago.

Help him work toward graduation. Watch proudly as Velasco left for college or entered the military. Then pack up a few belongings and return to sea.

The seizures put all of that on hold.

Velasco doesn't lack opportunities. Coaches from Jacksonville University and Benedictine College in Atchison, Kan., want him to play for them. He carries a 3.5 grade point average and has a high enough SAT score to qualify academically.

Most important, his neurologist has cleared him to play.

But Velasco is paralyzed by the fear that a seizure could strike at any time and his grandfather won't be around to help.

If he doesn't attend college, Velasco hopes to enter the armed services. He has passed the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery and has talked with the Air Force. He knows there are places in the military for people with disabilities.

But he is worried his seizures will scare off recruiters or make him a burden.

He says he has less than a month to make a decision about his future. But until the seizures stop, he's not sure he has one.

"Everybody keeps asking me, "What are you going to do? What are you going to do?"' he said. "I don't know."

Velasco was born to Tony and Felicia Velasco, teenage parents who, Rocky said, argued constantly. They divorced when he was 4, and Velasco lived with his father until he was 15.

Velasco's father started out as a boxer, but his life began to unravel when Rocky was 3 or 4. Tony stopped working out and developed a cocaine habit, Skrzypek, Felicia's father, said.

Velasco said he found dope in his father's room when he was 10. During the next eight years, his father was in and out of jail on a succession of robbery and drug offenses. He is scheduled to be released in August on the latest conviction.

Velasco's mother also spent time in jail on drug and traffic-related offenses. She has remarried and lives with Velasco's younger sister in Port Charlotte, where, her father says, she is a hairdresser.

"Most people, it would have messed their heads up," Rocky said. "But it made me want to break the mold."

The last straw came in 1998, when Rocky's father moved into a body shop. Rocky packed up and moved into his grandfather's hunting trailer.

Skrzypek, 70, moved into the 20-foot-long trailer after he retired as a towboat captain in the early 1980s. In exchange for free rent, he agreed to tend the cows and look after some equipment.

Skrzypek built a bunk in the back, replaced the bathtub with a sink and constructed an outdoor shower. Two curtains separate Skrzypek's bunk from Velasco's mattress on the floor.

The trailer has electricity, a television and a phone but no hot water. Velasco and his grandfather heat their water using a solar heater. The bathroom is outside.

From the time he took Velasco in, Skrzypek began planning for his grandson's future, focusing on athletics or the military.

Boxing was out, because Velasco's eyes were unable to catch quick movements. So Skrzypek introduced him to weightlifting. Skrzypek welded two car rims to a piece of pipe to create his grandson's first weight set.

By the time he was a sophomore, Velasco showed an interest in football.

Skrzypek bought a Nintendo and some John Madden games to teach Velasco X's and O's.

Though he lacked outstanding footwork, Velasco exploded so well off the ball that he developed into one of the county's top offensive linemen. Colleges asked about him.

Then, the seizures started.

Velasco suffered his first serious seizure during a football practice in May of his junior year.

Riverview was conducting an offensive line walk-through when he fell to the ground.

As his teammates watched in horror, Velasco's eyes rolled back into his head. He bit his tongue. Blood spurted from his mouth.

"I was just praying he wasn't going to die," coach Alex Albert said.

The seizures didn't hold Velasco back for long.

As a senior, he was named second-team all-state after helping Riverview to the first playoff berth in the school's three-year history. Running behind him 80 percent of the time, the Sharks advanced to the Class 4A region semifinals.

Velasco's success carried into wrestling. He opened the season with a string of pins.

Velasco was feeling good about himself -- until the seizures returned.

In January, he had one in the school cafeteria. As six coaches tried to hold him down, he hit one and bit another before he was handcuffed.

He doesn't remember any of it.

"It's been depressing the hell out of me these past few months," he said. "It's embarrassing, with the girls and all that, falling out in the lunch room."

The worst part of the seizures last from one to two minutes. After 15 minutes, Velasco tires and stops convulsing. After a half-hour, he's back to normal.

Velasco's grandfather tracks the seizures and ranks them from 0 to 3, depending on their intensity.

"I look for patterns," Skrzypek said. "But there's no such pattern."

Skrzypek takes the log to neurologist Jonathan Warach, whom Velasco has seen since May.

Velasco suffers from complex partial seizures with secondary generalization, Warach said. The condition, which affects several million people in the United States, is like "a lightning storm of the brain," the doctor said.

Velasco's condition could stem from previous head trauma or could have genetic origins, Warach said. Velasco said his father suffered seizures between the ages of 30 and 35.

Warach prescribed anticonvulsant medication and says that though Velasco shouldn't drive or operate dangerous machinery, he can expect an otherwise normal life.

"As far as sports and physical activity, I would not restrict him and would encourage him to pursue any sporting career such as football or wrestling if he chooses," Warach said.

At this point, everything is up to Velasco.

Benedictine coach Larry Wilcox has visited Riverview and wants Velasco to play for him. "He most definitely would offer him a nice package," Albert said.

Jacksonville does not offer athletic scholarships, but Velasco could qualify for a financial aid package.

Velasco said that if he goes anywhere, it will be Jacksonville, since it is closer to home. He has filled out the financial aid papers but they remain on a shelf in the trailer.

In recent months, Velasco has lost his drive, Albert said. He spends less time in the weight room and is running with the wrong crowd, the coach said.

All of which has put the two at odds.

"If Rocky puts his foot on the floor and says, "I want to play college football,' and gets financial aid going, then we're rolling," the coach said.

"Coach Albert has done all he can for him," Skrzypek said. "(Velasco) can't make up his mind because he doesn't want to be a burden at some college and waste their money and his time and everything."

Velasco has some people rooting for him.

"I want to see him succeed and go to college, because I don't want to see him end up like his parents," Riverview assistant Barry Jacobs said. "It's a great story. I hope it turns out to be a great ending."

But every day after school, Velasco returns to his cramped, dimly lit home, where he's left to think and wait for the dizziness that warns him another seizure is approaching.

From this vantage point, it's hard to be optimistic.

"There isn't going to be a happy ending," Velasco said, "until I find out what's wrong and then overcome it."

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