There was a young man who had no obvious talents. He seemed average in every way except his height. The man was seven feet two inches tall.
When he was in junior high school and already tall he was being groomed for a basketball scholarship.
No one really wanted to acknowledge that he had little talent for the game. After all, being seven feet tall was enough, wasn't it? He worked very hard and did quite well, but he didn't have much fun. He won a scholarship to a small but fairly illustrious college in the middle south.
If he was homesick he didn't say.
One day he was shooting hoops by himself in the gym. He was happy. It wasn't often that he had time to himself. He was singing. He liked to sing.
``You have a good voice,'' someone said. An old man standing by the door...
``I like to sing.''
``You need to train your voice.''
``I do?''
``You do.'' The old man closed the door and was gone.
The basketball player was a simple man. As he took a shower he asked himself a few questions and answered them. No, he did not like basketball. Yes he would have to quit college if he stopped playing...they could be cutting him next year anyway. He quit school, to the unspoken relief of the basketball team.
He arranged to take voice lessons.
For a few years he made a living by coaching young dreamers with nothing much going for them but the one thing he lacked - a passion for the game.
His passion was for opera. He was good. Almost excellent. He loved to sing.
He never made it to greatness as an opera singer, but his tall presence and solid baritone were sought for in the opera houses of Europe and South America.
He was a happy man.