The Ungiven Gift

He was pencil thin and walked with a limp. A thirteen year-old boywith huge yearning eyes who was always an unlucky patient on thechildren's floor of the hospital where my youngest daughter was alltoo often incarcerated.

Curtis had sickle cell anemia, an incurable, painful and terminaldisease that plagues young people of African descent.

I would meander into his room to spend a little time with therebellious loner and would often end up refereeing a screamingmatch between him and one of the nurses. The street-wise Curtiswould usually win.

Over the course of a few years (the hospital was always my home-away-from-home), I eventually learned of the horror of hisupbringing, the sad reality of his current life and the apparentdimness of his future.

My experience as a volunteer in the Big Brother-like program in ourlocal Children's Aid Society was that a small dose of interest andsome one-on-one attention could go a long way to helping a kidwho was in trouble with the law, failing school and in Curtis' case, asocial outcast.

So, when my time was over with the last boy I was involved with, Iasked the CAS if I could hook up with Curtis, albeit 'unofficially' thistime. Problem was, I was in the process of selling my drycleaningbusiness while building a music production studio (for my nextcareer) and my time was too much at a premium to commit to astructured arrangement. They agreed, and I began to hang withCurtis.

I learned in very short order that among his survival skills was thetendency to cajole, cleverly manipulate and even outright steal.Although always kind, I had to have a second set of eyes when inhis presence and was forced at times to be, well, curt with Curt.

Also during this time, I was involved in a major lawsuit after havinghad a song of mine "lifted" by a one-time friend and co-writingpartner in Los Angeles, who had become a 'hot' producer of majorrecording acts. On one of his multi-million selling records was thecore of a song of mine he had heard and we discussed in mypresence during one of my frequent music trips in the 1980's. I wasa little more than hurt and felt I deserved not only the royalties formy creation, but also the credibility that went along with a "cut" ofthat magnitude by a name recording artist.

I retained a highly regarded entertainment attorney in Detroit (herepresented many of the athletes on the professional sports teamsin Detroit as well as one of the all time greatest boxers and evensome famous civil rights icons) who just happened to also be atruly wonderful and giving human being.

It was in a meeting with this man that I casually mentioned Curtisand my desire to do something very special for him. See, in myheart, I had a feeling Curtis would not live for too many more years.Sickle cell sufferers often died in their early twenties, or evenbefore, a decade ago. I wasn't expecting anything from my lawyerin this regard, but the next day the phone rang and I was instructedto have Curtis "dressed up" and at the Palace of Auburn Hills at aspecific gate number one hour prior to a Detroit Pistons game laterthat week.

He was a huge basketball fan. His hero of heroes was IsaiahThomas, captain of the Motor City NBA Champs the prior twoyears. But I didn't let on to Curtis where we were going that night.Just that we were hanging out. I just asked his foster mother (and Iuse the term "mother" very lightly) to have him dressed nicely withhis birth certificate in hand by a certain time.

Curtis was on time, eagerly waiting on his rickety porch when Ipulled up. But to my utter dismay, he looked as disheveled as healways did in his overbaggy, tattered clothes. And of course, goodol' foster mom couldn't find his birth certificate. Now, can youimagine the fancy dancin' I had to do at U.S. Customs having this'gang looking' teenager with no identification trying to cross theborder in my new BMW? Well, fate and some silver tongued talkin'prevailed and we were soon racing up I-75 to The Game.

I tried to make idle conversation with the excited but slouchingteenager. All Curtis could do was hound me. "Is it a ballgame? Is ita concert?" "Rick, where are we going?" I love to tease. Finally, heglimpsed the landmark dome of the arena from the freeway andknew he was going to get to see his favorite team play.

We found the specified gate, parked and walked to the entrance.Walking with Curtis was always a little frustrating for me (he woulddo the 'slow, cool stroll' and I am a brisk walker) but this time Iknew there was something special awaiting that we should almostrace to.

We were met by a well-dressed, executive-looking middle-agedman, who just happened to be the Vice-President of PublicRelations for the Detroit Pistons. Talk about first class! He escortedCurtis not to his seat, but directly to the Pistons bench, whereCurtis' eyes grew almost as big as the basketballs the giantathletes had just started tossing around in their pre-game warm-up.

I was led to our primest of seats directly behind the bench. Awaitress visited only seconds after that, taking my order forrefreshments. Everything was "on the house". I saw one of theassistant coaches introduce himself to Curtis, and next thing Iknow, well, guess who's center court tossing the ball around withhis hero, Isaiah? Soon, he was running the court and shootinghoops with Bill Laimbeer, Dennis Rodman, Joe Dumars and therest of the elite players!

At this point, I couldn't even imagine the exhilaration that this youngman who life never seemed to smile upon was experiencing at thisvery moment! I mean, how could anyone's wildest imagination evenenvision this ravaged spirit and body trying to "deek the Bad Boysof basketball?" I just sat quietly in utter amazement, misty eyedand SO grateful to my legal friend and the 'human' management ofthis professional sports team who arranged all of this for oneperson. A Canadian kid who was close to my heart

When the warm-up was done, Curtis climbed up with me. The firsthalf of the game was great. The Pistons were pounding theiropponents. A few of the players even glanced back and motioned attheir new teammate! By the time the half-time buzzer sounded Iwas certain Curtis' dream day was complete.

But hold on, this was only half time! The same assistant coach whoinvited Curtis onto the hardwood floor pre-game, called for him tohang with the team in the sanctuary of the dressing room duringtheir much-needed break. Give ME a break!

I'll never forget what I think was the widest smile I have ever seen asthe team emerged onto the floor afterwards and my little guy 'coolstrolling' as proudly as I've ever seen anyone. And much quickerthan I ever recalled. What a night!!

The ride home was quiet. Opposite of the ride there. Curtis sleptmost of long way home. I could only imagine his dreams. CanadaCustoms was kind and allowed him to sleep through their few briefquestions for me. It was sad to see him sleepily stagger up thesidewalk to his stark reality, after having just left a world where I'dbet no one would believe he had been.

Somehow I thought I would receive a phonecall from Curtis the nextday. But it never came. Two days later I had a very good reason tocall him. My attorney and the team had arranged to have everyplayer on the NBA Champion Detroit Pistons sign the game ballfrom that night, and Federal Express it to my home address, to giveto Curtis. An autographed yearbook was included too.

I couldn't wait to tell him. I mean, I was flabbergasted at thisunexpected and over-the-top gesture! I recall excitedly dialing hisnumber and the deflation after hearing that "Curtis took off toToronto yesterday." She went on to explain that she didn't knowwhere he was or how to contact him. And neither did the Children'sAid Society.

Little did I know that evening would be the last time I would ever seeCurtis. My instincts tell me that he is not with us anymore. But ifhe is, he has one great gift still waiting for him - The Ungiven Gift.

© Rick Beneteau

Rick is co-creator of the breakthrough Make Every Day A GreatDay Program. Read the powerful, life-changing testimonialsand discover how this revolutionary product can dramaticallychange Your Life too!:http://www.MakeEveryDayAGreatDay.com/yes