The Innocent Hero

The Innocent Hero

We all need heroes no matter how old or young we are. Someone we look toward or to give us inspiration, someone who lifts us up when we are down. Some get paid large sums of money, sometimes they get a thank you, and sometimes they receive praise they shy from because they are just being themselves. I know of just a man. He saved me when I was ten years old and taught me in one “at bat” that life can change on a dime or perhaps a diamond.

Not long after my mom moved us to the town I had spent most of my life in, I found out why my father had left. It was a Sunday afternoon. It was delivered in a way that left no doubt the person who I wanted to be my hero in life was anything but a hero. He did not want to accept the responsibility of raising his children and preferred the company of lose women and those folks who spent their spare time and change at beer joints. It took no courage.

For some reason, on that Sunday, I was asked to help represent our elementary school in a baseball game. Another Catholic school in the adjoining town wanted to see what future there might be in starting a league. Why I was asked to play is still a mystery to me. We lived two blocks away from the school, so I walked to the game that day.

I was sad, embarrassed, hurt, confused, and sickened by what I had learned. Our father did not want us in his life or only on his terms. He did not want to have children doing what was necessary to love and support them. I cried that day as I walked to the game. How could I carry the name of someone like this and be proud?

As I arrived, James Simon, a man who lived around the corner from us, was calling balls and strikes. He loved sports—almost all sports. He had three daughters but no sons. Because of this, he was a dad to all the boys in our church, especially those who played sports.

He always smiled and was glad to see you when you showed up. Nobody was a loser when Mister Simon was in the mix. Everybody was a winner because, to him, there was no place known as second place when you had done your best.

The first time I got up to bat, I had no idea it would be the first day of the rest of my life. I know that that phrase is worn, but it is the truth. Right about the time I got up to the plate, Mister Simon stood up, held his arms up, took his umpire mask off, and said out loud to the outfielders,

“You boys in the outfield out there better back up! I know this kid; he can hit!” He waited a moment and said, “No man, you better back up some more he can hit!”

I remember turning around and looking at Mister Simon and thinking, What in the world can he be thinking…I can’t hit anything… why would he say such a thing!

A thought of dread came over me. This would be the second time I would be embarrassed and ashamed that day. I was going to strike out as sure as I was standing there. Finally, when the outfielders were in position, Mister Simon smiled big at me, pointed at me, and then said with his wide grin,

“Now hit the ball, Hank.”

He hollered out, “Playball!” He put his mask back on and knelt down behind the catcher. I did not know what would happen next. Afraid and shaking, I stood there, acting like I knew what I was doing.

The pitcher took his wind up and threw the ball. It must have been the fattest ball ever thrown in the history of baseball. As the ball came, I swung the bat. I hit the ball! I had hit the ball! I mean, I really hit the ball!

I do not remember where it went, how far, who was on base, or what base I made it to. I don’t know if a runner was in front of me or someone had scored off my hit. I did not hear those watching make a sound. The world went silent as The Holy Spirit cleansed my soul of doubt, filling it with confidence.

I had hit the ball somewhere, and it could not be caught. I was filled with an enormous feeling inside that I could not explain. It was a warm feeling that made my heart race, and my joy was overwhelming! All it took was someone having faith in me to make me able to do the thing that just the moment before was impossible.

On that day, Mister Simon was an instrument of the Holy Spirit. He took my doubt and turned it into a confident faith I share with you today. The Holy Spirit had entered into me and given me the strength to overcome my doubt, shame, confusion, and hurt and put my life on a new path. After this experience, I knew God had a plan for me. I would not be left to the nether world.

One moment in time can last a lifetime. A smile, a kind word, a gesture to let someone know they are worth much more than others say or think. Some folks strive and work to build up companies as a testament to their greatness. Others build up men and women to carry on so the world will be better for generations to come. Inspiration does not take much perspiration; however, inspiration can last for generations and build a nation.

It is up to you and me to join in creating future generations of strong faith. They will need to know that a great Spirit watches over them, that, with love in their hearts, they have an example of how good life can be blessed, and that they will persevere against all odds.

Epilogue

I was a volunteer firefighter here in town for 42 years. During football season, we would direct traffic into the high school parking places before the games for many years.

One fine early fall evening, I saw James Simon walking toward the stadium at the corner of the high school. I was standing and directing cars where to park. As Mister Simon approached, I shouted, and he waved back, calling back to me.

As he approached, I stopped him and said, "Mister Simon, I owe you a really big thank you that I can never repay for what you did to me one day a long time ago.

He was wearing a brown fedora and his patented smile that never left his face. He looked at me, quizzing his brain, trying to remember. It had been well over thirty years since I had hit the ball as he had directed me to, helping thousands since then.

I was in my fire department uniform, and he admired my contribution to the city as much as serving in this capacity for the town.

I asked him if he recalled the day on the baseball field when I hit the ball. He was sincere and shook his head, saying he did not. I told him the story briefly and told him that because he intervened in my life that day, my life was put on a new course, and my life had gotten better because of his interest in me,

As I related the story to him, his grin grew. As I finished the story, he stood as tall as I had ever seen him and as proud as I had ever seen him. I put my hand out to shake his hand, and he changed arms he was holding his sweater with.

He took my hand and said, "Hank, I don't remember that day you talked about it, but you are as welcome as possible. " I assured him that his effort had changed my life that day.

We joked for a moment more. The loudspeaker in the stadium was introducing the team. Mr. Simon had to see the boys run on the field. For him, this was the best part of the game.

Folks had come up behind Mister Simon, asking a question that was simple to answer. As they walked away, I turned in the direction Mr. Simon had been going. I noticed his arm with the sweater was moving around his back pants back pocket where he kept his handkerchief.

He removed it from his pocket, motioning it back and forth on his face several times, then returned it to his back pocket for safekeeping.

He was gratified that his act of selflessness that day was remembered. It was a true hero's reward. To be remembered for an act of kindness. No medal, no ticker-tape parade, no loving cup. Just the sheer admiration and appreciation of another human being for making the world better and safer. A place where God can grow.

MEN ARE NOT BORN GREAT. THEY ARE MADE GREAT MEN BY THOSE WHO THEMSELVES ARE ALREADY GREAT.