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"Handicaps can only disable us if we let them. This is true not only of physical challenges, but of emotional and intellectual ones as well." ~Roger Crawford.

Years ago, I came across a story about a boy who was born physically paralyzed. He was doomed to be, as the doctor told the boy's father, "a vegetable," and in fact, the doctor advised the father to put him into an institution. However, the father refused, choosing to raise his son just like any other boy.

As the boy grew up, his parents could see in his eyes that he was smart. Yet all he could to was look back. He had no control over his body, neither his mouth or voice. The family was very athletic, and they did their best to include the boy in activities such as swimming and street hockey.

The time came when technology was advanced enough for the boy to communicate with them by means of a computer. His parents debated what his first words were going to be. His mother was cheering for a "Hi Mom," and his father was confident he would say "Hi Dad." Well, his first words were, "Go Bruins." The Boston Bruins were going for the Stanley Cup that year, and he was one of their biggest fans.

Yet he would never be able to participate in any of the sports that he loved.

What hope is there for a paralyzed kid who is seemingly unable to choose whether he will "fall backward" or "fall forward?" And what effect does this have on his emotional well-being?

To answer these questions, let's turn to the boy's father:



Through the sacrifice of his father, Rick Hoyt succeeded in participating in a myriad of athletic events, including several Ironman competitions. It began with a local charity run, after which Rick wrote on his computer to his father, "Dad, when I'm running, it feels like my disability disappears." This pattern of success culminated into Rick's graduation from college, as well as his becoming a faculty member of that institution. So I guess Rick's father followed the doctor's "institution" advice after all.

Ultimately, Rick's physical victory required the help of another.

We can be that person. When someone fears that they will fall (or fail) backward, we can offer a loving hand to prop them up-- and we can also ask for that loving hand.

But even more spectacular is Rick's internal victory. He has an unquenchable optimism that defies his disability. In an Ironman documentary, Rick wrote on his computer, "I may be disabled, but I live a very fulfilling life, and if someone takes the time to get to know me they will realize that I am no different than anyone else."

Dick Hoyt said of his son, "He lives a happier life than probably 95% of the population." Why do you think so? What lessons can we learn from him, and how do those lessons relate to what we learned about "failure?" I have plenty to say, but I'll leave it to you. Feel free to leave comments and insights.