You don't get to choose how you are going to die, or when. You can only decide how you are going to live, now.

I was eleven years old. This was my first soccer game. As the tall, skinny kid

stuck in the middle of the muddy field, with little knowledge of the rules and

regulations of the game, I was nervous and apprehensive, but still excited. With

kids running at me from all directions, I observed the skills that many of my

teammates possessed.Their motions appeared to be so smooth and effortless,

while their faces revealed their attachment to the game. I, on the other hand,

lacked the dedication that many of the other kids had.

Little to my knowledge, this game turned out to be an intense one. My team

was trailing behind the entire game, but toward the end, we tied it up. I watched

as parents yelled and screamed, filled with excitement and emotion.Many of the

parents, with their waving arms and beaming eyes, seemed more involved in the

game than their children.

Suddenly, it was my turn to kick the ball. This was my chance to reveal that I

was as good as everyone else. I brought my leg back and was ready to kick with

all my strength. I gave a good, hard kick—one of my better—but unfortunately, I

had kicked the ball in the wrong direction. Seeing the disappointed faces of the

members of my team, I felt my face go from pale white to bright red; I wanted to

run home, faster than I ever ran in a soccer practice.

Over the next few years, I continued to participate in a variety of sports, trying

to find the one where I would be the center of attention for the right reasons.

That never happened. As the firstborn child, my father could not wait to toss the baseball around the backyard with me. Each time he would throw the ball, I somehow managed to trip on a shoelace or stumble over a rock. My father continued to push me, and during my elementary-school years it seemed that I

might become quite the athlete.

I was able to fake an interest and avoid the

action when playing. At the same time, my little brother was suddenly not so

little and began to dominate the family athletic domain. His ability and genuine

passion for sports made me wonder why I was so different. I began to feel like an outsider, not only with my family, but also with the

whole race. All my friends could play sports, and they all knew of my less than- perfect abilities.