You Changed My Life, Rod

Maybe it was because I was an only child raised by a single working mom. Every day after school, I came home to an empty apartment.

Or because I didn't fit in with the other kids where I grew up in Los Angeles. I was chubby, terrible at sports, unappealing to girls. A bout with cancer that made me the only fourth-grader with no hair didn't help.

Maybe it was because I was a late bloomer career-wise. I spent a few years playing in rock bands before I went to college at the University of Michigan in my twenties and discovered my true passion was writing.

Anyway, I got used to doing things on my own. I thought that whatever problems arose, it was up to me to fix them myself, that life was essentially a solitary journey.

Then in the summer of 2001, I met Rod Payne. I was a sports reporter at the Ann Arbor News. Rod was a football player. He was the starting center for Michigan from 1992 to 1996, and played four years in the NFL before injuries forced him to retire. His final season, with the 2000 Baltimore Ravens, ended with winning the Super Bowl. He'd come back to Ann Arbor to pursue new opportunities.

A mutual acquaintance introduced us. Rod's an intimidating presence at six-four, 300 pounds. But he put me at ease right away. He seemed different from other athletes. He was genuinely interested in me, like he saw me as a person, not a walking tape recorder.

Soon Rod was dropping by my apartment every day. "What's up, bro?" he'd say. He'd grab something from the kitchen and we'd hang out, watch ESPN and talk.

We talked about football. Rod's behind-the-scenes stories were fascinating. He was open about his struggles. "There were some practices freshman year when I was crying," he said. "I called my mom, wanting to come home. But she said to stick it out. That's where God really began working in my life. I trusted him to carry me through those days." I marveled at the pain and injuries he'd played through, the 13 surgeries.

We talked about other things too. Like me, Rod was an only child of divorced parents, raised by a hard-working mom. I knew what he meant when he said, "I didn't have a father at home to look up to." He found what he was looking for in football. His coaches were his fathers. Everything he'd learned from them and from playing the game, he tried to pass on to me.

I was hungry for it all, especially the camaraderie. Our friendship showed me what that kind of closeness and trust was like.

That December, I found out how miraculous our bond truly was. I'd gone out to L.A. for the holidays. I got so sick that I ended up in the E.R. the day after Christmas. I thought it was a nasty flu, but the doctor said, "We examined your blood and it might be leukemia."

A bone marrow biopsy confirmed the diagnosis—acute lymphoblastic leukemia. They started me on chemotherapy right away. I called Rod and gave him the news straight. The next couple days I lay in my hospital bed, barely aware of what was around me.

Until I opened my eyes and saw Rod, his massive frame filling the doorway. He gave me a bear hug. "What's up, bro?" he said, as if we were at my place. Pretty soon, it felt like we were. Rod hung a University of Michigan flag on the wall. He set his Super Bowl ring on the nightstand. He set up a cot next to my bed.

The next morning two nurses came to give me a transfusion. The sight of someone else's blood seeping into my veins was too much for me. I flipped out. "Get out of here!" I ranted.

Rod leapt up. "Clear the room," he bellowed. "I need to talk to him. Alone!" Everyone scurried out.