The Hero I Knew - Written By Michael Lista
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.
Eddie Verbanac
“Marc was an easy going, laid back person who took life one day at a time, appreciating all the blessings and privileges that were given to him. With an unforgettable smile and charm, Marc Santi touched peoples lives in a way that will never be forgotten. I thank Marc for all of the endless memories and good times we shared.”
Mario Lanzillotta
“Marc was not only a good friend, but like a brother to me. He will forever live in our hearts. He was a true example of a St. Michael’s
Arthur Ruston
“Marc was a brother to me and although he is gone his spirit will live on in all of the people’s lives he touched.”
Dan Grossi
“Marc was loved, respected, and most importantly a true St. Michael’s Man who exemplified the true Kerry Blue spirit. Marc Santi will forever have a place in my heart.”
Terence Sheridan
“Marc truly embodied the spirit of St. Michael’s
Gerald Commissiong
"Respectful. Honest. Courteous. Earnest. Caring. Funny. Classy. Inspiring. Insightful. Determined. Righteous. Loving. Words are infinitely limited. Thus Marc Santi lives."
Paul Forbes, former coach
"He was an inspiring young man to me, a leader in many ways and always seemed to have time to pull aside younger kids and offer them advice."
“Marc was loved, respected, and most importantly a true St. Michael’s Man who exemplified the true Kerry Blue spirit. Marc Santi will forever have a place in my heart.”