I can understand how people who were watching the under-7’s football game where I missed a vital catch losing the game for the team because I was busy perfecting my cartwheels felt. I can see why those people might have thought there wasn’t much of a future for me.

Growing up in a world where people had such narrow ideas of what constitutes a ‘boys’ sport’ could have been significantly limited for me if I had let it be.

The thing is, I was so single-minded in that moment on the field, the football match didn’t exist for me. All I wanted to be, was the best at cartwheels.

Fast forward a few years later, and I was the coolest kid at primary school, with an insane catalogue of impressive gymnastics tricks. Outside of school, I was the Rockstar of the local gymnastics club. I was going to be a world champion one day.

So, Mum took me to The Australian Institute of Sport, and they took one look at me and said…

I felt like a failure. Over something that was out of my control! I could have given up my world champion dreams there, but I didn’t. I channelled my energy into a new sport – aerobics.
By the time I was 15, I was travelling all over Australia to national aerobics competitions and doing pretty well at it too.
But it wasn’t all travel, excitement and fun. My peers mercilessly bullied me. I didn’t fit in. I was the odd one out.
I was the boy who didn’t want to play football, who liked sequins, lycra outfits, Mariah Carey and aerobics.
I didn’t let the bullies stop me. I competed nationally and then internationally until a friend encouraged me to get into dance. That’s where I found my tribe.
I worked hard at it, had a blast, and met some amazing people, and by age 25, I was hired as a danseur and can-can soloist at the Moulin Rouge in Paris.

Those cartwheels on the football field, the gymnastics, aerobics and dance, it was like my whole life had been leading up to this moment of performing in the Moulin Rouge! Finally, I was a success!
But my moment in the French sun was short-lived.
That feeling of finally finding success was gone in just one year.

So I was 26, my heart was broken, I’d decided to leave the Moulin Rouge and tail between my legs, I came back to Australia.
Even though I was home, I’d never felt more lost.
Besides, I still had this deep desire to be a world champion and the best at something. Even in my darkest moments, I knew I had it in me.
That’s when I decided to audition for a new TV show called So You Think You Can Dance?
Australians have a reputation for loving our sport. Or I should say we have a reputation for loving what’s traditionally considered “men’s sport”.

Given the bullying I’d copped at school and even as a grown man from people who considered dancing to be unmasculine, I wasn’t sure whether the show would last more than a few episodes.
Nonetheless, I turned up and auditioned. I got in and made it to the top ten dancers on the show. We were stunned and amazed when it went to air; people loved it.
So You Think You Can Dance? was the most popular show on TV that year.
I was famous all around the country for being good at something I loved! Finally, I was a success!
But the reality of reality TV show success is it’s short-lived. Six months later and everyone has forgotten about you.

After the fame from So You Think You Can Dance? wore off, I was running a successful dance school on the Gold Coast. I loved the feeling of mentoring and coaching young people in a discipline that’s great for their physical health but also for teaching teamwork, professionalism, dedication and focus.
I might not have been the football star every Aussie dad wants his boy to become, but I was kicking some career goals!
Yet, I still felt a gnawing inside. Something was unfulfilled. I wanted to be a world champion. No. It was more than a want. I needed to be a world champion.

I was 31 years old, and the average age of a world champion sportsperson is 25. After that age, the body tends to decline, and you can no longer function at peak performance levels.
I didn’t care about that statistic. A number was not going to hold me back. So at age 31, I returned to aerobics and committed myself again to the impossible dream of becoming a World Champion. I was determined to be a World Champion at something.
And guess what? I did it!!! At age 32, I achieved a World Champion status in the field of sport Aerobics.
Finally, I was a success!

“You’re gay”; you’ll never get married and have kids.
Look, I always knew I was a bit different from most other boys at school. I had an uncanny drive, determination, and focus; I had my ‘ it doesn’t worry’ mindset and adored sequins, lycra, and cartwheels more than dirt, footy, and tackling.

As a young person, when I finally realised I didn’t identify as heterosexual, it was a time when gay men were ridiculed, ostracised and bashed.
Kids at school who picked up on my fabulous point of difference bullied me constantly. I was never allowed to forget that I wasn’t like them.
I certainly didn’t think I would grow up to have what society considered a “normal” life.
I knew I’d never have the chance to get married and have children. There was nothing I could do about it. I just had to live with that fact.

The two biggest highlights of my life have been marrying my Husband and having our own family through surrogacy in the USA.
I’m living a life now that young Anthony had thought entirely impossible.
Throughout my life, society has changed. I thought I was never allowed to get married when I was a little kid. Then growing up, I was barely allowed to say, “I have a boyfriend”, and over time it became okay to say, “I have a partner”. Now I can finally say, “I have a Husband” and “We have two beautiful kids”.
I never lost hope and belief that one day I could accomplish what had once seemed so impossible.