He was told he was going to die, soon.

I got wind of the story from my wife, she's a nurse. She told me there was this child, no matter how gloom the situation always had a good out look on life. His name was Kevin.

Kevin, unfortunately, had rare blood disorder, for a good part of his eight-year life it had him living in a hospital.

I had a deadline and I needed a story, so I interviewed him. I talked with him more than interviewed; he was lying in bed the whole time, though he was barely able to move he still had a smile that could make the rain clouds go away.

It was three hours until I needed to turn in a story and I still couldn't figure out how to tell the story. I called my Editor, Luis, told him about Kevin, everything, how he wanted to grow up and be a baseball player for the Yanks, how he felt sorry for putting his parents through his pain, and how every time he was able to leave the hospital he'd eat a fresh peach. After I stopped talking, there was a long pause then Luis said, 'Get him his peaches.'�

At first I was confused, then he said it again, hung up and I called around for fresh peaches. Every place I called was closed. It was near midnight, when I called back Luis. I told him the stores wouldn't sell me the peaches.

Luis was the type of guy that everyone knew, literally. He told me to start driving across town to a certain corner shop. 'When you get there, tell 'em I sent you. You'll get the peaches.'�

I rushed there and back. Made it to the hospital just before Kevin went to sleep.

I had ten minutes until deadline, and still had no story. A chunk of the paper was going to be blank. I called Luis, told him I wouldn't have a story for him. Then he said, 'I told you get him his peaches, not the story.'�

Soon after, later that night, I realized I am not defined by how powerful my words might be, rather I am defined by the little things I do in life. Kevin, was born on a Monday and loved his peaches, unfortunately he died, on a Wednesday.

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