A Night to Remember: Lessons in Faith, Gratitude, and Leadership

April 13, 2009; The New York Mets were stepping onto a new stage—the inaugural home game at Citi Field. For a lifelong Mets fan, it was a moment rich with anticipation, the kind of history you dream of witnessing. At the time, I was in the early stages of my career, working under a boss who would unknowingly help shape my leadership philosophy for years to come. He was the kind of leader you hope to meet once in a lifetime—someone who saw you, truly saw you, and championed you with subtle but profound gestures.

One afternoon, he walked into the office, smiled, and handed me four tickets to the Mets' first-ever home game at Citi Field. “Go enjoy,” he said simply. And just like that, I was holding a golden ticket to history.

Those tickets meant more than a game. They meant memories in the making. I took my father-in-law, a die-hard Mets fan himself, my brother, and my young son, making it a night for three generations. It was a cool April evening, the kind that reminds you spring has arrived but hasn’t quite shed its winter chill. We were bundled up, electric with excitement, ready to soak in the magic of baseball’s grand traditions in a brand-new setting.

Citi Field was dazzling under the lights, a pristine cathedral of the game. The energy in the stands was palpable fans buzzing with hope and pride, a sense of renewal despite the team’s ups and downs.

The game itself? A nail-biter. The Mets, true to form, fought hard but fell short, losing by a single run to the Padres. Disappointment lingered, but the loss couldn’t dim the magic of the night. As the final out was recorded and the crowd began to disperse, the responsible choice was clear: head home. It was late, after all—work and school awaited in the morning. But my son had a different plan.

“Let’s stay,” he said, his eyes brimming with hope. “Maybe we can get an autograph.”

We waited. And waited.

One by one, the players emerged from the stadium. And one by one, they walked past the small group of fans who had stayed, most of them kids clutching pens and baseballs. My son watched in disappointment as his heroes ignored the few still waiting. Even the team’s general manager came out and instructed security to push the barriers farther back. My father-in-law and brother were growing increasingly frustrated, muttering about how the game—and maybe even the players—had changed.

I could see the light fading in my son’s eyes. Was this what he would remember? A night when his faith in the players, in the game, seemed misplaced? And yet, he wouldn’t leave. He wanted to wait for one player—The Player. His favorite: David Wright.

As the minutes turned to an hour plus, the parking lot emptied. By now, there were only two families left and a single car remained. Midnight approached. Then, at last, David Wright emerged. He walked alongside his family, tired but composed. He glanced our way but kept walking, ushering his family into the car.

My heart sank. My son’s hero was just another player rushing off into the night. But then, something remarkable happened.

Wright turned back. He walked toward us. A security guard intercepted him and said, “David, just go home.”

But Wright shook his head. He walked past the barrier, right to us.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” he said warmly. He signed autographs, spoke to my son, and turned a moment of fading hope into a lifetime memory.

That night, David Wright didn’t just restore my son’s faith in the game; he restored mine in people. He could have easily driven off, choosing convenience over connection. But he didn’t. He saw the moment for what it was—a chance to make an impact.

Fifteen years later, that night still resonates. It wasn’t just about baseball or autographs. It was about leadership, integrity, and the kind of person you choose to be when no one is watching—or when everyone is.

From my boss, who gave me those tickets, I learned the power of seeing and supporting others in quiet but meaningful ways. From David Wright, I saw how grace and humility can make someone unforgettable. And from my son, I was reminded of the importance of hope and persistence, even when it seems like the world isn’t paying attention.

As we approach Thanksgiving here in the U.S., I reflect on that night with deep gratitude. Grateful for leaders who lift others up. Grateful for moments of connection that remind us what truly matters. And grateful for people like David Wright, who choose to be the kind of human we all aspire to be—graceful, compassionate, and aware of the legacy they leave behind.

This holiday season, I challenge you to reflect on your own moments of connection. How can you see others more clearly, support them more fully, or remind them that they matter? Let’s choose to be like Wright, stepping out of our own convenience to make someone else’s night—or life—a little brighter.

Because in the end, it’s these moments that define us.

With Absolute Sincerity,

Ed Clementi, Founder & CEO of Inspired Fire, LLC

https://www.edclementi.com

https://www.linkedin.com/in/edwardclementi/

https://www.youtube.com/@edclementi

https://www.edclementi.com/podcast

Make an Impact.  Feel an Impact.