Marc Santi Football

Privacy Statement

At The Marc Santi Foundation, we appreciate your support and we treat your  personal information with respect. We do not sell, rent or trade any personal information. The information you provide will be used to keep you informed of events and fundraising opportunities in support of The Marc Santi Foundation. If at any time you wish to be removed from our mailing list, simply contact us by phone at 905-884-5361 by fax at 905- 884-6299 or by mailing us with your request at 447 Becker Rd. Richmond Hill Ontario Canada L4C 2S5.

Once in a lifetime, we will meet a hero.

I know this both through the accounts of historians and, of late, thanks to my own meandering experience.

To me, a hero is a man or woman who stares eye-deep at the adversary who utters threats on the breath of mortal certainty, yet stands fast.

I have seen that a hero inscribes the story of his life using the ink of courage; a courage that accepts the blind dealings of the mighty hand of fate with a poise and certainty that belies reason.

These heroes I speak of acknowledge that a life is but a vast compilation of fluid moments; moments that are far too precious to differ to procrastination or complacency.

And yet, the heroes of today are not clad in shining armour, nor do they

lead the cavalry charge, nor do they head a nation.

They instead, wear a revered double-blue, and they charge not into battle, but

into defensive lines, and they lead not nations, but student governments.

However, these do not make a hero.

The man I speak of is made a hero by way of the indelible mark of justice

that he imbued on the hearts of so many.

He loved, and was loved.

He gave.

He gave to the bitter, heart-wrenching end.

Where the average man folded under the strain of self-preservation, this man gave.

And the greatest act of charity is conducted when one can no longer determine who is the needier: the giver or the taker.

This was the case with the hero that I knew.

The man I knew refused to live in comfort's lap.

He refused the satisfaction that comes from the compromise of mediocrity.

He refused to take for granted the honey-sweet taste of daily life; and even when his cup was bittered,he denied himself the grimace of complaint that so many average people contort their faces into when presented with an undesired hand of life.

He refused to fall back onto the adage of the not-so-blessed: life is not fair.

Perhaps this is true.

But the hero I knew showed the world around him that life, however, is not unfair.

It is indifferent.

And though he drew the shortest straw of all, he did not falter.

He stood fast.

This man I knew was Marc Santi.

He died on Easter Morning.

He donated his heart.

He was 18 years old.

He was my friend.

So let us say that we have known a hero, lest we say that Marc has died in vain.

 

 

The Hero I Knew - Written By Michael Lista