It is not that adults produce children, but that children produce adults.

 I met an angel once. He came to me in the form of a seven-year-old boy.

During 2002 I was actively involved in little league baseball, coaching an under ten team. Nicky came and introduced himself to me that year, eager to play baseball, just like his dad. There was nothing special or spectacular about him, he was a small blonde hair blue eyed child, with an impish grin.

 Although he was never going to be the best batter, fielder or player, he was the type of child coaches wanted on their team. Nicky was always the first to offer help, never complained about being too tired to run more, he always had something pleasant to say about other children, and in the three years Nicky was in my team, I never heard him utter an unkind word. He showed respect for both his teammates as well as adults, and had a passion for baseball seldom seen in a child so young. Nicky was what I would term a support player, always the first to sit out, but always offered his teammates congratulatory cheers and hugs when something was well done, and condolences when things did not go quite right.

 But Nicky was different you see. He was not the typical seven year old I first thought he was. Nicky had leukemia, and was fighting for his right to live. Every morning that he was able to get out of bed was a small miracle.

 In 2003 Nicky lost his hair due to chemotherapy. I had not seen him for 4 months at that stage, and was slightly shocked to see the frail 8 year old that came to greet me. He was incredibly proud of his new baseball cap his dad had bought him, never regretted the loss of his hair, because he had his cap. He loved that cap almost as much as what he loved baseball. He also now had a permanent catheter and a drain in his chest in which to administer the chemotherapy, and we gave him a permanent catchers chest plate to protect him. We always heard him brag about how he was now the catcher and he never took that cap off.

 During that season Nicky underwent chemotherapy on a Tuesday and Thursday, these were the two days we practiced on, yet he was always there, sometimes a little more tired, but still he would run his laps, and try as hard as he could. He could no longer play a full game, as he did not have the strength, and he became our teams starting bench player. During a particularly rough week with the children, I decided to let Nicky start a game, forcing one of the better children to sit bench as punishment for his behavior.  Nicky came to me with tears in his eyes, wanting to know if he was not doing a good enough job as a bench player, he honestly believed that it was where he could contribute the most, so he was going to be the best bench player I ever had. After that game Nicky became my starting bench player once again.

 By the end of 2003, he had gained weight, and his hair had started to grow back, we even started to see some of the stubble through his well-worn cap. The chemotherapy had taken its toll, but it had worked, and he was in remission. Our season ended on a high note.

 The 2004 season came, and I was pleasantly surprised to see Nicky back once again, a little chubbier, a mop full of blonde hair and a sparkle in his eye. He even risked backchat ever now and then. He still could not play a full game but we always knew Nicky was there, supporting his fellow teammates. That year we also took on a number of four and five year old children; Nicky immediately took them under his wing, reveling in his new position as a senior team member. He had great pleasure explaining to them the intricacies of the game, as well as what Pee and Tea actually meant.

 I will never be able to forget our last practice of 2004. Nicky was there, but he was not the same child from three days earlier. His mom called me aside to say that the leukemia was back, and although Nicky did not know, he would be in hospital in a week’s time to start further treatment.

 On 21^st march 2004; we were playing our last game, the cup final. Nicky wanted to play a full game. His arms were bruised, his head was shaven, but he was still the spirited impish boy I met three years earlier. I spoke to his parents asking them what they wanted me to do, they explained that it would be his last baseball game as the leukemia had spread to his spine, and therefore I should let him decide what he wanted. After every frame, I asked Nicky how he was feeling, and he answer was always the same “Great coach”

 At the end of the game he came and hugged me, thanking me for letting him play the whole game, he was exhausted, but still his spirit could not be taken from him. I wrapped my arms around him, and said “See you next season”, knowingly lying to him, as if I saw him again, at best he would be in a wheel chair, paralyzed from the waist down.

Three weeks later Nicky died, and I found out I was pregnant.

 You may ask why I call Nicky my angel. To this day, when I look at my blonde hair blue eyed child, I want to be able to teach him the lessons Nicky taught me in those three years. I want my son to embrace life fully, no matter what hardships lie ahead, I want him to be able to accept the circumstances he is faced with, with pride and dignity, I want him to give 100% to every task he does, no matter how menial, and I want him to appreciate what life has to offer, no matter how small or how much.

But most importantly I want him to be able to exude genuine love, and kindness, towards mankind. For these are the lessons Nicky passed on to me.

 God sends children for another purpose than merely to keep up the race--to enlarge our hearts