What would you do?....you make the choice. Don't look for a punch line, there isn't one. Read it anyway. My question is: Would you have made the same choice?
At a fundraising dinner for a school that serves children with learning disabilities, the father of one of the students delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he offered a question:
'When not interfered with by outside influences, everything nature does, is done with perfection.
Yet my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other children do. He cannot understand things as other children do.
Where is the natural order of things in my son?'
The audience was stilled by the query.
The father continued. 'I believe that when a child like Shay, who was mentally and physically disabled comes into the world, an opportunity to realize true human nature presents itself, and it comes in the way other people treat that child.'
Then he told the following story:
Shay and I had walked past a park where some boys Shay knew were playing baseball. Shay asked, 'Do you think they'll let me play?' I knew that most of the boys would not want someone like Shay on their team, but as a father I also understood that if my son were allowed to play, it would give him a much-needed sense of belonging and some confidence to be accepted by others in spite of his handicaps.
I approached one of the boys on the field and asked (not expecting much) if Shay could play. The boy looked around for guidance and said, 'We're losing by six runs and the game is in20the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we'll try to put him in to bat in the ninth inning.'
Shay struggled over to the team's bench and, with a broad smile, put on a team shirt. I watched with a small tear in my eye and warmth in my heart. The boys saw my joy at my son being accepted.
In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay's team scored a few runs but was still behind by three.
In the top of the ninth inning, Shay put on a glove and played in the right field. Even though no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic just to be in the game and on the field, grinning from ear to ear as I waved to him from the stands.
In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay's team scored again.
Now, with two outs and the bases loaded, the potential winning run was on base and Shay was scheduled to be next at bat.
At this juncture, do they let Shay bat and give away their chance to win the game?
Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat. Everyone knew that a hit was all but impossible because Shay didn't even know how to hold the bat properly, much less connect with the ball.
However, as Shay stepped up to the plate, the pitcher, recognizing that the other team was putting winning aside for this moment in Shay's life, moved in a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay could at least make contact.
The first pitch came and=2 0Shay swung clumsily and missed.
The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly towards Shay.
As the pitch came in, Shay swung at the ball and hit a slow ground ball right back to the pitcher.
The game would now be over.
The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could have easily thrown the ball to the first baseman.
Shay would have been out and that would have been the end of the game.
Instead, the pitcher threw the ball right over the first baseman's head, out of reach of all team mates.
Everyone from the stands and both teams started yelling, 'Shay, run to first!
Run to first!'
Never in his life had Shay ever run that far, but he made it to first base.
He scampered down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled.
Everyone yelled, 'Run to second, run to second!'
Catching his breath, Shay awkwardly ran towards second, gleaming and struggling to make it to the base.
By the time Shay rounded towards second base, the right fielder had the ball . the smallest guy on their team who now had his first chance to be the hero for his team.
He could have thrown the ball to the second-baseman for the tag, but he understood the pitcher's intentions so he, too, intentionally threw the ball high and far over the third-baseman's head.
Shay ran toward third base deliriously as the runners ahead of him circled the bases toward home.
All were screaming, 'Shay, Shay, Shay, all the Way Shay'
Shay reached third base because the opposing shortstop ran to help him by turning him in the direction of third base, and shouted, 'Run to third!
Shay, run to third!'
As Shay rounded third, the boys from both teams, and the spectators, were on their feet screaming, 'Shay, run home! Run home!'
Shay ran to home, stepped on the plate, and was cheered as the hero who hit the grand slam and won the game for his team.
'That day', said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, 'the boys from both teams helped bring a piece of true love and humanity into this world'.
Shay didn't make it to another summer. He died that winter, having never forgotten being the hero and making me so happy, and coming home and seeing his Mother tearfully embrace her little hero of the day!
AND NOW A LITTLE FOOT NOTE TO THIS STORY:
We all send thousands of jokes through the e-mail without a second thought, but when it comes to sending messages about life choices, people hesitate.
The crude, vulgar, and often obscene pass freely through cyberspace, but public discussion about decency is too often suppressed in our schools and workplaces.
If you're thinking about forwarding this message, chances are that you're probably sorting out the people in your address book who aren't the 'appropriate' ones to receive this type of message Well, the person who sent you this believes that we all can make a difference.
We all have thousands of opportunities every single day to help realize the 'natural order of things.'
So many seemingly trivial interactions between two people present us with a choice:
Do we pass along a little spark of love and humanity or do we pass up those opportunities and leave the world a little bit colder in the process?
A wise man once said every society is judged by how it treats it's least fortunate amongst t hem.
You now have two choices:
1. Delete
2. Forward
May your day, be a Shay Day.
Marty's Note:
Years ago, I coached my parish's, Queen of the Holy Rosary in Overland Park, KS, 8th grade basketball and baseball teams. Had about 15 kids on the basketball team...the best was a feisty, cocky little natural named Matt Mulcahy...the worst was a physically impaired kid named Edwin Schwaller..small and frail, he was what we termed in those days, a spastic. He would make two dribbles with the ball and bounce it 20 feet out of bounds...you have the picture. Matt was a dream kid to coach...actually, he needed little athletic coaching but he needed a lot of life coaching..particularly discipline, respect for the rules, responsibility...as one of seven kids whose father apparently abandoned the family...Matt had all the tendencies one would expect of a "wild" kid and was a prime prospect of a hot dog begging for the proverbial "swift kick in the arse"...as my Irish immigrant father would so succinctly put it. Since I had been taught the subtle, but extremely painful, nuances of corporaI punishment by the Dominican's of Fenwick HS, I, like the Dominicans, considered myself an instrument of God's will and fulfilled my spiritual duty by kicking Matt's ass. Not only did the will of God work wonders with Matt Mulcahy, it also had positive ancillary effects on the other kids...including my own son, Mitch, who was about 6 at the time, who would dutifully watch God's will being administered in wide eyed wonder (in Mitch's 20 years of life, he was never spanked save once when he received a sharp slap on his rear, at about 2, leaving the yard for the street). Eddie was a different story altogether. Always early to practice, he would gather the basketballs, line them neatly courtside, have towels at the ready, a clip board with players in attendance, and eagerly asking "Mr. Scanlan, should I start the lay-up drill?" Gosh, I have a lump in my throat recalling this stuff. Well, you have the image I'm sure, of the two extremes I was faced with...one kid a gifted, wondrous athlete but an unruly, feral spirit...the other an imperfect specimen by some quirk of nature but gifted with genuine goodness. The season wore on...and we were perfect..we never won a game...Matt was the big star, deservedly so by dint of his scoring, hustle and leadership....Eddie, more the mascot than a player, always first on the bus in his freshly laundered and ironed uniform, always courtside on bended knee next to me, waiting for a nod that would have him rush to his position only to stand, immobile, as the game progressed around him. He never scored a point. At the awards banquet..a dinner held by the Kansas City Archdiocese for all the grammar school teams and a gala for the various team winners, MVPs, doting parents, priests and featuring lousy food and lousier speeches..naturally, our team had nothing to say except for my brief announcement of our team's most valuable player. You guessed it. Eddie Schwaller literally floated on air as he walked, in his pathetic gimpy way, to the dais where a short, fat Bishop handed him a cheap, 12 inch, plastic facsimile of Bob Cousy tensing for a jump shot. I can't begin to relate the look in Eddiie's parents eyes..I can't describe Mrs. Schwaller's tears and what her facial expression told me though she spoke not a word, nor can I convey the feeling of the two-handed vise that gripped my hand and Mr. Schwaller's unceasing stream of "thank you, thank you, thank you". Eddie, beaming, his whole body straining to be erect and imagining himself 7 feet tall kept repeating, "holy cow", to no one's amazement excepting his own. Talking to Mrs. Mulcahy later in the parking lot..everyone in the school, if not the entire league, knew Matt was MVP going away....I clumsily tried to explain why I chose Eddie..and not Matt...that Matt would have many athletic MVPs in his life and of course Eddie wouldn't, but Eddie genuinely was the MVP of that team because MVP to me, an athlete all my life, wasn't about athletics in 8th grade at all, it was about one's human worth to others. Eddie had that in spades. Mrs. Mulcahy, who had been trying to interrupt me..finally said, "Martin, I don't give a good god damn about any god damn trophy, all I know is Matt was a god damn little bastard until you came along and kicked his god damn little smart ass..for Christ sake, Martin, now he even takes the garbage out without me having to god damn yell at him." As is often said, God works in strange ways.
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