Once I spoke at a high school. After the speech, I was asked to see a special student. An illness had kept the boy at home, but he had expressed an interest in meeting me, and it would mean a great deal to him. I agreed. He was Matthew. When he was born, the doctor told his parents that he would not live to see five; then they were told he would not make it to ten. Now he was thirteen. He wanted to meet me because I was a gold—medal weight lifter, and I knew about overcoming difficulties and going for my dreams.
I spent over an hour talking to Matthew. Never once did he complain. He spoke about winning and succeeding and going for his dreams. He knew what he was talking about. He just talked about this hopes for the future, and how one day he wanted to lift weight with me.
When we finished talking, I went to my briefcase and pulled out the first gold medal won and put it around his neck. I told him he was more of a winner and knew more about success and overcoming difficulties than I ever would. He looked at it for a moment, then took it off and handed it back to me. He said, "You are a champion. You earned that medal. Someday when I get to the Olympics and win my own medal, I will show it to you."
Last summer I got the news that Matthew had died and a letter Matthew had written to me a few days before:
Dear Rick,
My mom said I should send you a thank—you letter for the picture you sent me. The doctors tell me that I don't have long to live any more. But I still smile as much as I can.
I told you some day I was going to the Olympics and win a gold medal. But I know now I'll never make it But I know I'm a champion like you, and God knows that, too. When I get to Heaven, God will give me my medal and when you get there, I will show it to you. Thank you for loving me.
Your friend,
Matthew