The other day I saw a hero. I recognized him as a hero right away, not because he was wearing spandex or a red cape, but because of his physique. It was the unmistakable sign that I was in the presence of a man who deserved respect. He was playing basketball and it was impossible to miss his noteworthy athleticism, his remarkable agility and his incredible spirit. I couldn't take my eyes off of him for the admiration I felt.
Who is he? His name is Noah and he's a skinny eight year old kid. He's got blondish-brown hair and a babyface. What does he do? He plays basketball and probably dreams of being in the NBA someday. He plays defense, guards his man, moves up and down the court, dribbles the ball and scores baskets. He can make shots with no hands and he doesn't have to run to keep up with his opponent; he can do it hopping on one foot. Yes, he's that good. After watching him play basketball I wanted to give him a high-five for a good game, but I couldn't...because he has no hands.
He makes his shots with no hands, not because he's a hothead, but simply because he HAS none. And he moves up and down the court not running, but hopping on one foot, not because he's a showboat, but simply because he only HAS one foot. I first saw him crawling off the basketball court during a timeout and from that moment I was hooked. I felt myself inspired by this 8-year-old boy who overcame what the world would call a handicap to do what the world would call impossible. Who is he? He's the kid next door who loves basketball. He's a boy that's a man. The world doesn't know him, but he's a hero.
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