My children are now grown, out in the world, doing their own dance, and at 46, athletic, and still "in the game", I enjoy teasing my youngest son, who is 22, by telling him, "Matt, I'm the still the meanest boy in my village"!, and as he howls, so do I!. He inspires me, as one of my heroes, and this story is one reason why.

Matt came to live with me at 12 years old. His mother and I had divorced when he was small, and like the story,"The Prince and The King", he was becoming a teenager and, as male, it was time for the Dad energy, and Mom needed a break. We had big fun, and spent a lot of time together.

It was on a typical night for us, life decided to do some heavy teaching. Just as we were preparing to call it a night, we heard a noise no one wants to hear, especially living in a condominium community, six units per building. The sound was an outside fire alarm, and as we opened our front door, the building next to ours was largely engulfed in flames. I describe the feeling I had as a gut punch, and I ran to join our neighbors furiously banging on doors, hoping to alert everybody to get out! As a community, we all joined in, doing what we could, even helping the firefighters, all the while, looking around, hoping to see everyone we knew who lived in that building, and for us, one person in particular.

I won't use his name, but he was 12 years old, broken and sad, living in this now burning building with his mother, who we knew took good care of him. Matt had befriended and embraced him, knowing he yearned for his Dad to come and visit. To our young friend, it just didn't matter how his parents felt about each other. he knew it was supposed to be about him, and we tried to be supportive as he struggled with depression and abandonment.

The fire had started in his unit, and when we saw his mother in the parking lot with their puppy our hearts sank because we didn't see her son. Matt and I ran to her as she looked at us, knowing the question in our minds, and said,"he's not here, his father came and took him on a trip"!. Rock and roll!, as we did a high 5!, my heart sang until a few minutes later I couldn't find my son! Where had he gone? I frantically ran around the burning building, and just as I was launching into panic mode, a neighbor said, "Steve, your son is over at the community clubhouse, making coffee for everyone"! My son was opening his heart and reaching out on his own. You all know that surge called parental pride!

Over the next several weeks, I would come home from my office, and just inside the door, find little pieces of photos, and what looked like debris. Matt was spending his afternoons searching in the rubble that remained of our neighboring building, trying to find anything he could that belonged to his young friend.

One afternoon, almost two weeks after the fire ,I got an excited phone call at my office from my son which I will always cherish."DAD!, I found Rattle, and he's alive!.Can you believe it Dad!? Rattle, it turns out, was our young friend's hamster, and Matt, once again searching the rubble, saw motion and there was Rattle! "DAD, He smells like smoke, but he is alive!,Dad, he's lived in that place for 10 days"!"!

That afternoon, sitting in my office, I cried and couldn't wait to get home, hug my son and and explain to him that he had behaved as God does for us. He never stops looking for us, and though the rubble of life may damage and try to hide us, it won't succeed. And Rattle representing each of us, hanging on, doing his or her part, like the old Sam and Dave song, "Hold On, I'm Coming"!, hung on and just as God comes for us, Matt had for him. As a man, I grew that day thanks to a big hearted son and a tough little hamster named Rattle!, because both had refused to give up.

copyright/Steve Chapman 2008