David

I stood there, barely 4-foot-tall and fifty-few pounds, staring up at the 180-foot wall in front of me and the zip line that crossed the whole length of the small lake. I knew instantly there was no way I was ever going to be able to do this. There wasn't even a small part of me that wanted to. 

About a year or so before that moment, my life had been rocked by the development of severe cervical vertigo and an offset in my vision that only made things worse. It would be several decades before I would understand this; until that time, everyone would just call it a "fear of heights" and tell me that I needed to "be brave" and "get over that." But I was young and small and still new to the way that the world was spinning, and I couldn't. 

David was explaining how we were all going to be hooked into these harnesses and connected to this long rope for our own safety and then, one at a time, we were going over that wall. After that, we were flying on that zipline. In between, there were half a dozen other obstacles in this high-ropes course that we were going to tackle. 

Every. single. one. of us. 

I was trying to figure out how to get out of it. I was trying to figure out how to explain that there was no way I could do this, that those ropes better be strong enough to catch me because I was going to fall. I was dreading the moment when I knew that David, like so many other persons in my life, was going to tell me to just stop being scared and believe in myself. Or something like that. 

But then, he said - "We're going to need one person to stay on the ground and hold the ropes." He went on to explain how this person was called a "belayer" and would be the anchor for everyone else as they conquered the course. The belayer had to be strong, he said, because they would literally be the thing that kept anyone else from falling and hitting the ground and becoming majorly injured. 

He couldn't even finish his talk before I was eagerly thrusting my hand in the air. Me, the smallest kid in the bunch. Maybe one of the youngest, too. I was freshly 11 years old. Still, I was practically leaping with excitement, at least inside my head. Outside, my body was holding its hand as high and straight as I could possibly get it, trying to make sure I was in his line of sight, and pleading as strongly as I could with silent eyes. 

It has to be me. Pick me. 

He was surprised by my eager volunteerism. Didn't I want to run the course with everyone else? I was known for being adventurous, for being stubborn, for not saying no. I seemed like exactly the kind of person who wanted to tackle a 180-foot wall...I was also the kind of insecure kid who needed that kind of victory and accomplishment in my life.

But I insisted. I want to be the ground guy. 

He looked at my small size, compared to everyone else, but I insisted here, too. I can do it. I'm strong. 

So David let me be the ground guy. He let me be the belayer. He taught me how to hold the ropes, how to wrap them around myself so that I could maximize my strength and minimize my effort. 

He was one of the first persons in my life to let me say what I needed and listened to me when I did. 

This is such a valuable skill in life. We are always trying to fix others. When we come to help, we always try to encourage victory and accomplishment and all the other things, and we don't often listen to someone who is telling us what they need. We don't often listen to someone who tells us what role they can play in a bigger success because we want some massive thing for them that they don't really want for themselves. 

Would it have been cool to do that high ropes course? Obviously, yes. I still have fantasies of doing a zipline one day. But I understood the way that my body gifted and cursed me in those days, I knew what I was capable of actually doing, I knew what I offered to the team. My willingness to accept my limitations - and David's willingness to let me accept them - gave every single other kid the opportunity to conquer their fears, expand their horizons, believe in themselves a little more, and defeat this high ropes course. Not a one of them could stop talking about it for weeks. Everyone kept asking when they could do it again. 

I just smiled. 

I've been the ground guy a lot in my life. It's a position and a function I know well - being strong, standing firm, holding the ropes that give others the confidence to succeed. 

But I have also learned to listen while I'm doing that and to let others tell me what they need and then, to believe them. And do my best to give them that. 

Thank you, David, for teaching me two big lessons that day. Lessons that have shaped so much of who I have become.