This morning while sitting in my 8 a.m. Spanish class I received a text from a friend alerting me of some bad news from back home. He said that an individual from our high school had committed suicide. Stunned by the news, I inquired about the specifics: What was his name? What grade was he in? Was he bullied? How is the high school handling it? Did I ever know him or talk to him? My friend responded by telling me that his name was Kelton, and he is a senior this year. He did, indeed, experience bullying. And he had tried out for the baseball team these past two years. As a baseball player myself, I tried remembering if I had ever spoken to or interacted with someone named Kelton. It was when I saw a picture of him that a seemingly trivial memory resurfaced, and I remembered the one interaction I had ever had with Kelton. Here's my story. Here's our story.

Dear Kelton,

I didn't know you. I only ever spoke to you one time, and I never imagined the significance of that encounter. You remember, right? Baseball tryouts two years ago. I was trying out as an outfielder, and you were trying out as an infielder. For those of you who don't know, during Eagan baseball tryouts, there is about an hour of tryout time where the outfielder's would work out separately from the infielders. The outfielders, when weather permitted, would go out to the parking lot to take reps catching fly balls. The infielders stayed inside in the gym for their respective workouts. On the second day of tryouts, while the outfielders were practicing fly balls in the parking lot, someone ran out to the parking lot late, timidly placing himself in the back of the line. I had just completed the drill, and went to the back of the line, right behind this newcomer. I ignored him, watching the others work the drill, and waiting impatiently for another rep of my own. I noticed him shaking a little bit, and I couldn't tell if it was from the cold or him being nervous or a mixture of the two.

"You good man? I didn't see you with us out here yesterday, have you always been an outfielder?" I asked, taking a break from watching the others take their reps.

Kelton replied, "No, this is my first time as an outfielder. I've only ever played infield, but the coaches thought I'd be better fit as an outfielder."

Now, I used to be an infielder myself, and reluctantly got moved to the outfield, where the typically less talented fielders would play. I recall myself being upset for a very long time, because I had been a shortstop before, and I always admired and wanted to be like the greatest shortstop of all-time, Derek Jeter. The difference with Kelton was that while he hinted that he was a little disappointed, he didn't show it. He had the biggest smile I'd ever seen, and his tall, lanky posture was constantly swaying with what seemed like constant adrenaline and excitement.

Kelton asked me about the drill we were doing, and asked if I could go before him to show him. After a few reps, and mostly uncaught balls, Kelton returned to the line behind me and asked me questions like, "How'd you get so fast?" and "Do you think you'll start on varsity this year?" and "Are you excited for Florida?" I remember laughing, and I answered these questions almost robotically because I had been asked them countless times before. He stood there and listened intently while I went on and on about my goals, how hard I had worked during the off-season, and how excited I was to go to Florida with the team. Upon answering his questions, he seemed down; as if hearing about me almost bragging about my own goals and achievements were far exceeding those of his own. I recognized this and caught myself. Ceasing to talk about myself, I engaged him with some questions so that he could talk about himself as well.

"You excited for Florida?" I asked back to him.

"Oh I'm super excited, but I just don't know if I'm gonna make the team," he responded in a surprisingly upbeat tone.

This was when I realized that while I was talking on and on about my private lessons in the off-season with a twins minor league player, and my personal expectations to start on the varsity team, otherwise I'd quit the team, and taking for granted the fact that I already had a for-sure spot on the team, and would be going to Florida no matter what, Kelton had none of those opportunities like I had, and he still didn't know if he would have a spot on the team.

Think about that. I'm standing there threatening to quit if I don't start on varsity, and this kid I've never met before is fighting for a bench spot on the sophomore team. It puts things into perspective. Makes you think twice about who it is you're interacting with.

Before I could try to be more sympathetic with Kelton, he blurted out, "Do you think I should come to tryouts tomorrow? I mean, they didn't want me as an infielder, and I missed almost every ball in the outfield."

I quickly reassured him that he looked better as he took more reps, and that he should absolutely show up to the last day of tryouts the next day, and do his best to make the team. He smiled, said he'd see me the next day, and that was it. My one interaction with Kelton. He showed up the next day. He smiled the whole time, and improved from the day before, catching almost everything that was hit his way. I didn't talk to him that final day of tryouts, and later found out that he had been cut, and wouldn't be an Eagan Wildcat baseball player like he had hoped to be.

I never thought anything of that conversation, and I haven't though about it one time since then. Until today. And the lesson I take from it, and recommend that everyone takes from it should they choose to, is that when someone appears to be giving up. Losing hope. Wanting to quit. Whether it be giving up in baseball tryouts, or giving up on life. Don't let them. Don't give him/her any possible reason to the think that giving up or quitting is the best option. Moreover, don't give these people the initial thoughts that, hey, maybe giving up is the best option. Maybe my life/baseball career is meaningless. Maybe it's not worth it. Maybe I'm not worth it.

It was such a meaningless conversation for me when it happened. I thought nothing of it. But for Kelton, it did mean something to him. Hearing me tell him to stick with it and keep working, even when he had thoughts of quitting, played a role in prompting him to return to tryouts the next day. And guess what. This past year, my senior year, I decided not to tryout for baseball. Even with a starting spot guaranteed for me, and the promise of being a captain, I found excuses to give up. Guess who did show up for tryouts this year? Even after being cut the year before and having self-doubt, Kelton forged ahead and tried out yet again. That's a person with tenacity and passion. Someone who has everything against him and no reason to believe he will succeed, but still finds that reason to try. I can only hope that my advice for him to return to tryouts played a role in his subsequent efforts to make the team. This takes me back to what I said earlier. This conversation meant nothing to me when it happened. I didn't blink an eye. But for Kelton it meant so much more than that.

Unfortunately, that same general idea holds true in the opposite regard as well. We say things everyday that, unknown to ourselves, hurt other people, and permanently affect them while for us what we said or did was "no big deal" or "just a joke." What you say without blinking an eye can leave someone else debating about whether or not it's worth it for them to ever open their eyes again. Think about that. It's all too easy to sound cliche and say "think before you speak" or "consider the background and the feelings of who you're speaking to" but seriously that's what it takes. Because when you truly think about how fragile life is, and know that everything you say and do in your daily interactions with others can push them towards hope and happiness or towards hopelessness and misery, the choice is easy. Be the best version of yourself every single day, and do this for yourself, but more importantly do it for others. Next time you're in a position to make this choice, think about Kelton. Think about being the person who gives hope and happiness. Who gives people the motivation to get up the next morning and every morning after that. Who gives people the belief in themselves that they need in order to feel like they are valued and appreciated.

So, Kelton, thank you for giving me the chance to have the conversation with you that I did during baseball tryouts two years ago. I will never forget the lessons that I, and hopefully some of you reading this will take away from it.

Rest easy, Kelton. Oh, and by the way, I heard the baseball team in Heaven is looking for another outfielder.