Inspire Me (February 2003)

True stories, quotes and information on inspiration, leadership and kindness to provide hope and direction in your life.

BILL GATES' SPEECH TO MT. WHITNEY HIGH SCHOOL IN VISALIA, CALIFORNIA

Love him or hate him, he sure hits the nail on the head with this speech! To anyone with kids of any age, or anyone who has ever been a kid, here's some advice Bill Gates recently dished out at a high school speech about 11 things they did not and will not learn in school. He talks about how feel-good, politically correct teachings created a generation of kids with no concept of reality and how this concept set them up for failure in the real world.

Rule 1: Life is not fair - get used to it

Rule 2: The world won't care about your self-esteem. The world will expect you to accomplish something BEFORE you feel good about yourself.

Rule 3: You will NOT make $40,000 a year right out of high school. You won't be a vice-president with a car phone until you earn both.

Rule 4: If you think your teacher is tough, wait till you get a boss.

Rule 5: Flipping burgers is not beneath your dignity. Your grandparents had a different word for burger flipping -- they called it opportunity.

Rule 6: If you mess up, it's not your parents' fault, so don't whine about your mistakes, learn from them.

Rule 7: Before you were born, your parents weren't as boring as they are now. They got that way from paying your bills, cleaning your clothes and listening to you talk about how cool you are. So before you save the rain forest from the parasites of your parents' generation, try delousing the closet in your own room.

Rule 8: Your school may have done away with winners and losers, but life has not. In some schools, they have abolished failing grades and they'll give you as many times as you want to get the right answer. This doesn't bear the slightest resemblance to ANYTHING in real life.

Rule 9: Life is not divided into semesters. You don't get summers off and very few employers are interested in helping you find yourself. Do that on your own time.

Rule 10: Television is NOT real life. In real life people actually have to leave the coffee shop and go to jobs.

Rule 11: Be nice to nerds. Chances are you'll be working for one.

Kids.......

Author and lecturer Leo Buscaglia once talked about a contest he was asked to judge. The purpose of the contest was to find the most caring child.

The winner was a four year old child whose next door neighbor was an elderly gentleman who had recently lost his wife.

Upon seeing the man cry, the little boy went into the old gentleman's yard, climbed onto his lap, and just sat there.

When his mother asked him what he had said to the neighbor, the little boy said, "Nothing, I just helped him cry."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Teacher Debbie Moon's first graders were discussing a picture of a family. One little boy in the picture had a different color hair than the other family members.

One child suggested that he was adopted. A little girl said, "I know all about adoptions because I was adopted."

"What does it mean to be adopted?" asked another child. "It means," said the girl, "that you grew in your mommy's heart instead of her tummy."

A four year old was at the pediatrician for a check up. As the doctor looked down her ears with an otoscope, he asked, "Do you think I'll find Big Bird in Here?"

The little girl stayed silent. Next, the doctor took a tongue depressor and looked down her throat. He asked, "Do you think I'll find the Cookie Monster down there?"

Again, the little girl was silent. Then the doctor put a stethoscope to her chest. As he listened to her heart beat, he asked, "Do you think I'll hear Barney in there?"

"Oh, no!" the little girl replied. "Love is in my heart. Barney's on my underpants."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

As I was driving home from work one day, I stopped to watch a local Little League baseball game that was being played in a park near my home.

As I sat down behind the bench on the first-base line, I asked one of the boys what the score was.

"We're behind 14 to nothing," he answered with a smile. "Really," I said. "I have to say you don't look very discouraged."

"Discouraged?" the boy asked with a puzzled look on his face. "Why should we be discouraged?
We haven't been up to bat yet."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Whenever I'm disappointed with my spot in life, I stop and think about little Jamie Scott.

Jamie was trying out for a part in a school play. His mother told me that he'd set his heart on being in it, though she feared he would not be chosen.

On the day the parts were awarded, I went with her to collect him after school.
Jamie rushed up to her, eyes shining with pride and excitement.

"Guess what Mom," he shouted, and then said those words that will remain a lesson to me:
"I've been chosen to clap and cheer."

RUN TO WIN

A monthly insert on Coaching and Leadership by Vince Lombardi

* Dream up new plays.

* In order to be creative, first understand all the aspects of your craft - its history, its past innovations, its details and nuances.

* Once you create a new system, implement it right away.

* Have a lot of little kid in you.

* Write down a new idea wherever and whenever it occurs to you.

* Visual education is much better than simply talking to people.

* From success stems confidence.

* Change is good.

* If you alter your personality just to accomplish something, you're not being true. You're being dishonest.

* Surprise should be based on deception and rapidity of maneuver, not radical change.

* If you don't strive to innovate, someone else will come up with that better thing.

* If you stand still, you are not progressing and will not remain a leader for long.

* Involve the members of your team in the creative process.

* Part of the price you must pay for success is watching others steal your ideas.

* Ultimately, come up with new ideas that outdo your previous innovations.

The story behind the story of My Big Fat Greek Wedding...

On the surface the Nia Vardalos' story might easily be fluffed off as just another lucky person who made it big in a hit movie. I'm telling you right now however that nothing could be farther from the truth.

While it is true that Nia reached super star status almost over night in a movie that grossed 120 million dollars and was reported to cost only 5 million dollars to make, the odd twist is the story behind the film's production and phenomenal success.

If this was anything resembling luck, it was home made luck...Nia explained that the story she'd written originally was born out of the necessity to work. She was an actress looking for work and after hearing the various reasons why she didn't fit into the stereotypical roles that were out there, Nia decided to write her own role.

Hence was born the little one woman play that actress Rita Wilson took her family to see after seeing a small clip advertising it in the newspaper. Perhaps even more incredible is that the ad that led them to the show was a one time running, because that was all that Nia could afford at the time.

Rita was so impressed with the show, that she encouraged her husband, Tom Hanks, to take it from the theater to the big screen. You see, we're not talking just luck here. There are countless examples of people, just like you and I that took that leap of faith and along the way something far greater then us came up behind us and filled in the missing pieces.

Set out each day believing in your dreams. Know without a doubt that you were made for amazing things. Understand that it is ok to be scared or uncertain, however right beyond those barriers ultimately lies your dreams...

Tired of arrogant, overpaid athletes? So are we. You'll enjoy this story of a big, and big-hearted, college basketball player who brought his nearly blind mother to college with him, so he could take care of her.

The ESPN Story:

A future once fuzzy comes into focus

By Wayne Drehs

ATHENS, Ohio -- The robe was royal blue, cotton, with tiny blue leaves across it. Perfect for a mom to climb out of bed and stumble to breakfast in.

But here, in the center of this sleepy college town's shiny new Wal-Mart, a 6-foot-8, 275-pound man takes the robe off a plastic hanger, slips it over his arms and ties it around his waist like some sort of Hugh Hefner wannabe.

You'll never know until you try it. Delvar Barrett can attest that life isn't as easy as it looks. Delvar Barrett is no playboy. He didn't lose a bet. He doesn't have a fetish for women's clothing.

He just loves his mom.

A few feet away, Vivian Barrett sits in a wheelchair. Stricken with diabetes and nearly blind, she wears dark sunglasses to cover her eyes left bloodshot and swollen from three surgeries in the past month. Her head constantly rotates from the dull gray carpet below to the bright lights above to the rack of pink cotton nightgowns beside her.

She sees nothing more than large, fuzzy shapes.

"Does it fit?" she asks, looking off in the distance as her son stands directly in front of her.

"Sure does, Viv. I think it'll work."

The robe is slipped off, tossed into a cart and the Barretts move on. Delvar knows people are looking at him. But he has learned to ignore them.

This is his life.

Barrett is a junior basketball player at Ohio University whose life is vastly different from any other student athlete in the country. He grew up in the poverty-stricken, gang-infested Robson neighborhood of northwest Detroit. And he now uses his college free time not to chase girls, chug beers or pound the buttons of a PlayStation console, but to take care of Vivian, his mother.

At 57 years old, Vivian says her diabetes isn't life-threatening. Her mind is still sharp. But years of poor medical care in the inner-city has left her with only a fraction of sight remaining in her left eye. She's weak on her legs, often relying on the bulky arms of her son to help her up and down stairs or in and out of the car. She doesn't always eat right. And whether or not her pride will let her admit it, she desperately needs someone to help her with the little things in everyday life.

Since Vivian lost her sight three years ago, Delvar Barrett has been there for her.
Enter Delvar. Since nobody back home in Detroit -- not his aunts, not his uncles, not even his two sisters -- wanted any part of helping out, the 23-year-old brought his mother with him to college.

"That woman has a heart of gold," Delvar says. "My entire life, she did everything she could to raise me and my two sisters. So I'd do anything for her."

Since arriving in Athens in July, Delvar has struggled with life as a full-time student, full-time athlete and primary caregiver. On top of classes, study hall, homework and practice, there are doctor appointments to coordinate, medications to manage and cooking, cleaning and caring for two.

If that weren't enough, he also monitors Vivian's diabetes, a disease Delvar also has battled since he was 14. Every day begins with a blood sugar test and, if necessary, the administering of insulin. Delvar takes his with a pill. Vivian needs injections.

"When I tell people, they think I'm lying to them," Delvar says. "They're like, 'C'mon, your life can't be that hard.' But they have no idea. It's not like one day it's basketball, one day it's take care of Vivian, one day it's study for finals. Everyday it's everything."

And it never seems to get easier. Last week, he broke up with his live-in girlfriend, leaving him heartbroken -- not because the girl he dated for three years is now out of his life, but because it means he has to put Vivian in a nursing home whenever the team takes a road trip.

His frustration makes you wonder if it's all worth it. And just when you do, just when you question why this chunky power forward with the slightest of chances to play professionally puts himself through this, Delvar reaches into his wallet.

Barrett proudly carries and shows this photo of daughter Kierra.
He sifts through tattered sheets of paper, a driver's license and food stamps. A smile crosses his face. He pulls out a photograph of his 3-year-old daughter Kierra, lost in a sea of streamers, teddy bears and red and yellow balloons bigger than her tiny head.

"There she is," he says. "The reason I do what I do."

As Delvar sees it, his crazy, hellish life is Kierra's ticket out. He is already the first from his family to graduate from high school. But if he can survive these two years at Ohio, get his degree in economics and land a job in accounting, life will be set. And Kierra, who lives with her mom in Detroit, can escape a neighborhood where, as Vivian puts it, "gunshots are as common as breathing."

"Here's a kid who gets it," says Ohio head basketball coach Tim O'Shea. "Here's somebody who's had a difficult, challenging life, but has found this incredible amount of courage and perseverance to try and better not only his life, but that of his mom and his daughter as well. It's inspiring."

Said Delvar, who knows that people back home will criticize him when he eventually moves his daughter out of Robson: "People can say that I'm a traitor. But I don't care. My daughter is not growing up in poverty. She's not going to have the life that I did."

A life of poverty and basketball
Life in Robson was never easy. Delvar's father left when he was 4. Vivian worked two jobs -- one at the department store Hudson's and another as a phone solicitor for a security company -- to support Delvar and his two sisters.

Delvar Barrett is struggling to develop into the Division I-A talent Ohio University coach Tim O'Shea thinks he can be.

There was never much money. When Delvar was a freshman in high school, he dropped out because kids taunted him about his clothes. He mixed and matched his two shirts and two pants as much as he could, but, inevitably, the day came around when the blue shirt clashed with the green pants. "And I'm talking bright green," he says.

In the heart of the inner city, where nobody has money, Delvar was teased for having the least.

"I went into a shell," Delvar says. "When I think back on it now, it was a punk excuse. But I just wasn't tough. I didn't know how to stick up for myself. And I didn't have a dad to show me how."

The support of Vivian, as well as his high school coach, coaxed him back into classes. So, too, did his ability on the basketball court. With soft hands, a great touch and an electric smile, kids turned on Delvar -- the right way -- and started calling him "Baby Shaq."

"They'd call the house and be like, 'Is Shaq there?' " Vivian says. "And I'm like, 'Who?' "

Today, Barrett's on-court abilities are a far cry to the Diesel's. He still has the soft hands, great touch and is the only Bobcat who can give teammate Brandon Hunter, an All-American candidate, fits in the post during practice.

Much like how the Bobcats have gotten off to a slow start with a 1-3 record, Barrett, the team's starting center, has struggled to become effective in his first season on the Division I-A level, averaging only 6.5 points and 3.3 rebounds. Part of that is because the games have been fast paced, hardly ideal for Delvar's bang-and-bruise style. And part of it, he admits, is a lack of focus due to the whirlwind life that spins around him.

"The coaches always tell us, 'When you come to practice, all we ask is that you give us three hours of your undivided attention,' " Delvar says. "But, man, let me tell you, it's not that easy."

Theres little beyond the barest of essentials in the Barretts' apartment.
Inside the living room of the Barretts' two-bedroom apartment in Athens, the walls are bare. There is no couch, coffee table or lamp. Delvar watches television from a chair that sits at a small, glass-top kitchen set in the center of the room. The only light comes from a bay window during the day and fluorescent lighting in the adjacent kitchen at night.

Luxuries are limited. Beds sit without headboards. If more than three people are in the apartment, someone must sit on the floor. Yet it's better than the old home in Detroit, they say. By a landslide.

"That place was falling apart, the pipes were bursting, it was terrible," Delvar says. "This is like a hotel compared to that."

The apartment, government-subsidized Section 8 housing, costs the Barretts $132 a month. They survive on Vivian's disability checks of $545 per month, $85 worth of food stamps and the $1,300 a semester Delvar receives from a Pell Grant.

Financial help is what makes it all work. When Barrett graduated from Detroit's Schoolcraft Junior College last summer and was searching for his next move, he told every coach who recruited him about his mother and the financial assistance they would need. Some called him back. Most didn't.

The Bobcats were initially interested in another big man, but when that fell through they focused on Barrett, regardless of the baggage he brought with him. Athens, the coaches realized, is located in a relatively poor part of southeastern Ohio and offers the public housing and financial assistance Delvar and his mother would need.

Delvar accepted O'Shea's scholarship offer before even visiting the campus.

"It was a no-brainer," he says. "Once they told me everything was set up so I could help my mom, we were there."

Says O'Shea, who frequently has to reschedule practice to accommodate Delvar's hectic schedule: "When you have a kid with that sort of character, it's contagious. We thought he was someone who could help us on the basketball court as well as off it. And he has."

Dealing with the disease
Delvar was diagnosed with diabetes when he was 14. He has been hospitalized with complications from it once and, until recently, had been plagued by fatigue that kept him from finishing practices. But after seeing a physician for the first time in four years, he has improved his diet, modernized his insulin intake by taking pills instead of injections and, in doing so, has regained control of the disease.

“ The doctor was asking her, 'Can you see this? Can you read this?' And she couldn't. He would ask, 'What letter is this?' And she didn't know. That just hurt my heart so bad. ”
— Delvar Barrett on learning that his mother had gone blind

He tries to stay away from candy and fried foods, and drains the grease from the hot dogs, hamburgers and fish he cooks. He has lost 20 pounds since arriving in Athens.

Vivian hasn't been nearly as lucky. She never realized she had diabetes until her vision started to fade three years ago. By then, it was too late.

Delvar remembers the first time he came home from school and discovered his mom couldn't see. His sisters had warned him, but it didn't hit him until he walked into the house, stood before his mom and heard her ask, "Who's there?"

Later that week he took her to the doctor. For the first time in five years, he cried.

"The doctor was asking her, 'Can you see this? Can you read this?' And she couldn't. He would ask, 'What letter is this?' And she didn't know. That just hurt my heart so bad."

This fall, Vivian underwent three surgeries on her left eye to salvage her limited vision. Doctors won't know if it the procedures were successful until the swelling subsides.

"Every time we step into a doctor's office, I pray there's nothing new," says Delvar, who has also helped his mom quit smoking since they moved to Ohio. "And people don't realize how scary that is."

Despite her struggles, Vivian is a vibrant, colorful woman who lives for weekday afternoon trash TV and entertainment gossip. To watch television, she puts her face just inches from the screen. Even then, she can see only bright flashes and sudden movements. While she can name the stars in nearly every movie, on a bus trip to Philadelphia a few years back she couldn't figure out why she didn't run into actor-rapper Will Smith.

"Oh, man," Delvar says. "Don't get her started on that story."

On days off, when everyone else is cramming at the library or vegging on the couch, Delvar is at home, waiting for Vivian's request. A Kleenex. A bottle of lotion. A glass of water. Though he doesn't dress his mother, he lays out her clothes. He also tests her blood sugar. Gives her insulin shots. Makes sure she doesn't rub her puffy eyes. Pours her something to drink. Cooks dinner. And makes sure she has taken a bath.

"Not to minimize the situation, but in many respects, it's sort of like caring for a baby," assistant basketball coach John Rhodes says. "The things he deals with are unlike any 23-year-old I know."

Says Vivian: "I can't think of many sons who would do the things he does for me. Most people would just stick me in a home."

No matter where he goes, Delvar sees to it that his mother, Vivian, is given a helping hand when needed.
When it comes time to leave the apartment, be it for a doctor's appointment or a trip to Wal-Mart, Delvar gingerly maneuvers his mom from their second-floor apartment down a cement staircase to the parking lot. It takes two to three minutes. With one hand holding her hand and another supporting her back, Delvar gradually directs Vivian, providing physical and mental support for the challenging task. One ... step ... at ... a ... time.

"Now remember," he tells her, "There's 15. Count 'em."

Once to the car, guiding Vivian into their rusting, mid-'80s Chevy Caprice also can be a chore. Delvar eases her into the passenger seat, swings her legs into the car and makes sure she doesn't get tangled in the seatbelt. Once they arrive at their destination, it starts again. Doors to open. Stairs to climb. Wheelchairs to push.

"I always tell him, he's an old soul," says Lori Friel, who has worked with Delvar on his class load as the university's director of academics. "The things he has to deal with and the pressures that he carries on his shoulders -- he's like a fully grown adult in a kid's body."

The adult decisions grew even tougher this past week, when Delvar split up with his girlfriend of three years. Christina moved with Vivian and Delvar from Detroit, but when she spent more time on the phone than helping around the apartment, Delvar says, it was time for the split.

"If you don't want to get a job, fine. If you don't want to go to school, fine. But at least cook or clean or do something," Delvar says. "I'd get home at 11 o'clock at night and I'd have to clean the place, cook for myself, cook for my mom and she'd be running up the long distance talking to people back home. It just wasn't working."

The timing couldn't have been worse. Delvar booted his girlfriend two days before the team's longest road trip of the season -- an eight-day jaunt from Toledo to Chicago to Boston and back. With nobody in town to care for his mother, he was forced to put Vivian in a nursing home temporarily.

When the basketball team is on road trips, Delvar counts on a nursing home to care for his mother.
A midweek visit to set things up at the local home revealed just what one might expect -- a quiet, listless environment with a chipper staff and indifferent patients. The waft of urine and the guttural sound of groggy patients clearing their throats filled the air.

Says Delvar, jokingly: "This might be one of those times where maybe it isn't entirely a bad thing that Vivian can't see."

Vivian barely said a word. She asked only if the place had television and if there were any other "darkies," her word for African Americans.

"I promised myself I'd never do that to her," Delvar says of putting Vivian in a home. "And I know she's not happy about it. But I just don't see any way around it. And it's only for a couple days."

An ongoing struggle
Ask anyone, Delvar included, and they'll tell you he's struggling with the transition to his new life.

Giving 100 percent to any one thing is impossible. His game isn't where he wants it to be. His grades aren't much to brag about. And he isn't able to spend nearly as much time as he'd like helping his mom.

“ I don't know. I honestly don't know. And it isn't something I want to think about. ”
— Vivian Barrett on where she would be if she weren't living with her son

But he's getting by. And when he looks at the tiny picture of Kierra, he's reminded that it's all worth it.

Yet one probing question remains. And neither he nor Vivian are certain of its answer.

Where would Vivian be without her oversized son with the overwhelming heart?

"I don't know. I honestly don't know," Vivian says. "And it isn't something I want to think about."

Says Delvar: "I can't even begin to fathom that. Probably in a home somewhere."

Then, in three whispered, progressively softer sentences, Delvar speaks the undeniable truth. He puts his lanky arms behind his head, leans back on his dining room chair, looks to the spackled ceiling and in the most introspective of tones, reveals what's painstakingly obvious.

"She doesn't have anyone else," he says, teetering on the hind legs of his chair. "She doesn't have anyone else …

"She doesn't have anyone else."

In a split second, the chair falls back to the ground, Delvar's arms land back in his lap and the kid who gets it points out a fact slightly less obvious, but just as blindingly important.

"Better yet," he says, "Where would I be without her?"

Wayne Drehs is a staff writer for ESPN.com. He can be reached at wayne.drehs@espn3.com.