Being There

My chopper's tail rotor was non-functional. We went down through the triple canopy jungle and amazingly landed upright. Trees had pierced the belly of our craft like so many pungie stakes. But we survived the crash.

The enemy was closing in.

Then someone emerged, seemingly out of nowhere, braving the hail of small arms fire to pull us out. Thank you for being there.

The stinging line drive was knuckle-balling in my direction. It's erratic flight fooled me, but knowing someone was backing me up, I was able to gamble on an all-out lunge to catch the thing.

I missed.

But someone was there - and the runner was held to a harmless single. Thanks for being there.

With a single-point lead and only seconds to go, we just needed to play good defense and not foul. My man took it upon himself to win it. He gave me a good head fake, then elevated, fading away for an uncontested, open shot...

I heard someone rushing up behind me, growling as he hurled all 6' 11" of his frame over my back. The sound and the sight of that leather sphere landing in the third row will forever be etched in my mind. Thanks for being there.

On a long road trip to take care of some unsavory business we sat in the car for hours, barely saying a word. It wasn't words I needed, only someone's presence. Thank you for being there.

Venturing into a strange new world of sportswriters, I felt lost and friendless. Clicking that "publish" button for the first time was one of the scariest moments in my life.

Eventually, someone found me, encouraged me, and took me under their wing. Thank you so much for being there.

I hope some day I can be there for you.