One morning I went to work and picked up the faxes that came to me as usual. There was one hand written message on one fax that said, “Please be sure to pick up Mohammed Ali at the airport in South Bend.”

I’m not sure who the fax was meant for but surely it wasn’t for me. It must have been for his body guard I thought. I contacted the phone number at the top, again by fax, and let them know they had faxed it to the wrong number and they would need to retransmit it for Mr. Ali to have transportation.

A few days later I had to pick my husband up at the airport in South Bend so my children and I anxiously went to greet him. As my son opened the automatic door there stood Mohammed Ali as big as life; waiting for his ride, whom I presumed was someone who did not get the fax. I was shocked. Immediately I recalled the memo and I now felt responsible for this odd circumstance, as if I should have followed up on the message to be sure he had a ride home, after all, we DID live right near him!

I looked at my pre-teen son and his mouth was literally hung wide open. His feet were frozen in place, in the middle of the opened doors.

Mr. Ali smiled at my son, who hadn’t budged from the open doorway, and lifted a shaking hand to wave to him. He could see the shock in the boy’s face. I put my toddler down and asked Mr. Ali if I could assist him with his brief case as he was heading toward the later stages of Parkinson’s Disease and the case looked heavy. He shook his head no and smiled warmly but set the bag down. It felt so strange to think I could have been the only person who knew why he was still standing there waiting for a ride.

I said, “Brady, why don’t you move from the door and come say hello to Mr. Ali.”

My shocked son still couldn’t move, or close his mouth. Mr. Ali and I began to laugh. I asked him if he needed a ride home and explained that we lived very near to him and it would be a priviledge to give him a lift home. He shook his head no and smiled kindly at me. He explained, as best as one can with Parkinson, that someone was coming for him in a few minutes.

My son was still standing in the same spot. I tore a piece of paper off one of my note pads in my hand bag and asked Mr. Ali if he would be so kind as to autograph this torn paper for my statue in the doorway. He laughed, sort of giggled, and shook his head yes.

He then motioned to my son to come near him so he could use his back as a table to write. My son’s face was purple by now but he obediently walked up without saying a word and bent down. All the boy could muster from his gaping mouth was, “Th-th-th-anks.”

There was so much love in Mohammed’s eyes as he went the extra mile for my sweet stunned boy. He then bent to touch my little girl’s cheek so I picked her up and he leaned in and kissed the same cheek. Never in my life would I have guessed this burly iconic boxer had such a gentle soul. I shook his hand and kindly thanked him. We lingered to be sure he did get his ride and then left to pick up my husband.

That was one of the oddest meetings I’ve ever encountered. It was obvious to me that I was meant to meet him at that time and no one could convince me otherwise. But why I wondered?

The Ali’s have since moved to AZ, where Mohammed is fighting his disease, but that meeting left an impression in my mind.

All too often we are taught to believe a certain way about someone, and that belief is often quite inaccurate. Since we don’t know the heart of any individual, only God does, we often judge others based on what we’ve been told, or what we think we see. My perception of Mr. Ali was a rough man who couldn’t possibly have a tender side to him.

Never again did I make a judgment call about another individual’s character without getting to know them myself. The ‘WHY’ became very clear. It was a great lesson for me, and an amazing experience for my son…

And to think it all started with a wrong number and a memo.

Do you have an experience about someone that left an impact on your life? Willing to share it here?