fgoodwin
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Some Perspective...
Jun. 18th, 2009 at 7:18 AM
I would like to share a short story. It is a true story, and a story I read when I was a teenager and recently re-read as an adult in a new hardback biography.
At first, I thought about writing in typical “outraged about the perils of moral society” blogger fashion. But I deleted them. Instead I decided to share a story about someone who actually gave a damn.
Because we all can and should make a difference in this world.
And because sometimes we, including myself, forget it is not always about us.
Story written and reported by Jeff Pearlman:
In October 1993, a ten-year-old Dallas boy named J.P. O’Neill was diagnosed with Burkitt’s lymphoma, a rare form of childhood cancer that results in large tumors in the facial or abdominal regions. Like many kids his age, J.P. was a sports fanatic. His room was covered with posters of baseball, hockey, and football players, as well as one featuring the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders. “He loved climbing trees,” says Kim O’Neill, J.P.’s father. “He would climb a tree in my parents’ backyard and just sit up there and stare into the woods.”
By the summer of 1994, J.P.’s health had deteriorated. The tumor in his stomach refused to go away, and the boy weakened daily. When a Channel 5 sportscaster named Scott Murray learned of J.P.’s plight, he arranged for the O’Neills to attend the Dallas Cowboys’ training camp. Throughout the day, J.P. was treated like a king. He met the players, collected autographs, basked in the glow. “They were all so nice to him,” says Kim. “Made him feel incredibly special.”
Of all the Cowboys, Troy Aikman stood out. He chatted with the frail boy for several minutes before posing for pictures. This type of generosity was a side to the reclusive quarterback far too few people had witnessed. (When an equipment manager named Al Walker had trouble with his battered truck, Aikman bought him a new one. Aikman drove the truck up to the facilities, gave Al the keys, and said, “This is your truck Al. Just go get insurance.”
So now, as the quarterback prepared to walk away from J.P., Kim reached for the star’s shoulder and said, “I know this is a lot, but J.P. was wondering if you would throw a touchdown pass for him.” Aikman looked at J.P. sitting in the wheelchair beneath a blue-and-white Cowboys cap and said, “I’ll do one better. I’ll score a touchdown for you and send you the ball.” When J.P. was out of earshot, Aikman whispered to Kim, “I know your son doesn’t have long. If I don’t do it this week [in a matchup with the Vikings], I promise I’ll score for him against the Raiders in next Sunday’s exhibition.”
On the night of August 7, 1994, J.P. O’Neill sat in front of his TV and watched the Cowboys fall to Los Angeles, 27-19. He didn’t care about the final score. He didn’t care about the standout performances of the Raiders. No, all he cared about was the Cowboys’ opening series, when Aikman did what no quarterback is supposed to do in a meaningless preseason game: He scrambled half a dozen yards into the endzone.
“We knew the touchdown was just for him,” says Colleen O’Neill, J.P.’s older sister. “He had to tell everyone who would listen that the touchdown was his. It meant everything to my brother.”
Nineteen days later, J.P. O’Neill died. He was buried at Restland Cemetery in Dallas, holding the football that Troy Aikman had sent him.
Jun. 18th, 2009 at 7:18 AM
I would like to share a short story. It is a true story, and a story I read when I was a teenager and recently re-read as an adult in a new hardback biography.
At first, I thought about writing in typical “outraged about the perils of moral society” blogger fashion. But I deleted them. Instead I decided to share a story about someone who actually gave a damn.
Because we all can and should make a difference in this world.
And because sometimes we, including myself, forget it is not always about us.
Story written and reported by Jeff Pearlman:
In October 1993, a ten-year-old Dallas boy named J.P. O’Neill was diagnosed with Burkitt’s lymphoma, a rare form of childhood cancer that results in large tumors in the facial or abdominal regions. Like many kids his age, J.P. was a sports fanatic. His room was covered with posters of baseball, hockey, and football players, as well as one featuring the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders. “He loved climbing trees,” says Kim O’Neill, J.P.’s father. “He would climb a tree in my parents’ backyard and just sit up there and stare into the woods.”
By the summer of 1994, J.P.’s health had deteriorated. The tumor in his stomach refused to go away, and the boy weakened daily. When a Channel 5 sportscaster named Scott Murray learned of J.P.’s plight, he arranged for the O’Neills to attend the Dallas Cowboys’ training camp. Throughout the day, J.P. was treated like a king. He met the players, collected autographs, basked in the glow. “They were all so nice to him,” says Kim. “Made him feel incredibly special.”
Of all the Cowboys, Troy Aikman stood out. He chatted with the frail boy for several minutes before posing for pictures. This type of generosity was a side to the reclusive quarterback far too few people had witnessed. (When an equipment manager named Al Walker had trouble with his battered truck, Aikman bought him a new one. Aikman drove the truck up to the facilities, gave Al the keys, and said, “This is your truck Al. Just go get insurance.”
So now, as the quarterback prepared to walk away from J.P., Kim reached for the star’s shoulder and said, “I know this is a lot, but J.P. was wondering if you would throw a touchdown pass for him.” Aikman looked at J.P. sitting in the wheelchair beneath a blue-and-white Cowboys cap and said, “I’ll do one better. I’ll score a touchdown for you and send you the ball.” When J.P. was out of earshot, Aikman whispered to Kim, “I know your son doesn’t have long. If I don’t do it this week [in a matchup with the Vikings], I promise I’ll score for him against the Raiders in next Sunday’s exhibition.”On the night of August 7, 1994, J.P. O’Neill sat in front of his TV and watched the Cowboys fall to Los Angeles, 27-19. He didn’t care about the final score. He didn’t care about the standout performances of the Raiders. No, all he cared about was the Cowboys’ opening series, when Aikman did what no quarterback is supposed to do in a meaningless preseason game: He scrambled half a dozen yards into the endzone.
“We knew the touchdown was just for him,” says Colleen O’Neill, J.P.’s older sister. “He had to tell everyone who would listen that the touchdown was his. It meant everything to my brother.”
Nineteen days later, J.P. O’Neill died. He was buried at Restland Cemetery in Dallas, holding the football that Troy Aikman had sent him.
