When I was a teenager a family moved into our neighborhood with a son named Chance. He was about four years old and the most precious child I had ever met. Very loving, active, always smiling. Chance always found a way to make people smile. And he loved hugs. He was a smaller than average child, for his age. He had the biggest blue eyes and the softest blond hair. Chance was born deaf so you would have to make sure he was looking at you when you spoke to him so that he could understand you. And Chance was also a very sickly child, in that he would always catch a cold or the flu. I always loved his name because it was so unusual and unique. So one day I asked his mother why she had named him Chance. She said that when she was pregnant with her son she was sick a lot. She said that when Chance was born the doctors told her and her husband that he had a 50/50 percent chance survival rate. He was underweight and underdeveloped. After a couple of months in the hospital Chance was finally allowed to come home. So his parents named him Chance because he beat the odds for survival. Chance's story has always touched my heart and knowing him touched my soul.