It was 2002 and I was lost.

I had no career plans and was in no relationship. It would be safe to say I felt sorry for myself.

A good friend suggested I volunteer somewhere and get some gratitude. I decided to inquire about volunteering at the local children's hospital.

I began volunteering shortly after. Eventually I found myself working with a 7-year-old boy who called himself Shaq.

Shaq was burned on about 70 percent of his body when his clothes caught fire in a kitchen accident. When I spent time with Shaq he was always happy, always on the move.

I began to realize that my problems were pale in comparison to this little boy. He had this amazing strength that I couldn't understand.

The last day of my commitment we were sitting across from each other, and I was trying to get him to extend his arms while the physical therapist rubbed medicated cream on his arms to increase mobility.

When she finished he said to her, "Would you rub my head?" She explained that she had to go treat another child.

Then he looked up at me and said, "Would you rub my head?" My throat tightened up but I managed to hold back the tears long enough to say, "Sure, little buddy, I'll rub your head."

When my commitment ended, my perception of life changed.

I realized that I wanted to teach students with disabilities. Shaq inspired me to turn my life around. I could no longer feel sorry for myself.

I finished graduate school and became a teacher shortly after. I've been a teacher ever since and have enjoyed every day.

In May, seven years after meeting Shaq, I entered my school like it was any other day.

During my first period prep, I walked by the front office and noticed a new student — a teenager, African-American and a burn victim.

He looked just like the boy I knew seven years prior.

My first thought was, "Impossible, the world is too big and the years don't add up."

I went to speak with the testing coordinator. I told her about the little boy I once knew.

As we pulled up his file my heart was pounding. I found myself hoping it was the same boy. Then his name came up: Shaquille.

My heart pounded faster and we looked for information about the hospital but there was nothing. She suggested I ask him.

I was already on my way.

I sat down next to this teenager. He was angry, confused and probably a little nervous. After all, he was beginning his first day in a new school.

My first question was the obvious: "When you were younger did people call you Shaq?"

He smiled and said yes.

Then the defining question: "Were you at Blythedale Children's Hospital in 2002?" He smiled and said yes. It was him!

I couldn't believe it.

After reconnecting for a while I had to go teach. I checked in with him as he progressed through all the testing he had to endure.

At the end of the day I received an in-house e-mail from the front office explaining the new student was going to be in my ELA and math class.

I realized at that moment that everything happens for a reason. We were put into each other's path and it was my turn to inspire Shaq. I almost felt like I owed him.

When I told Shaq the news he smiled. He asked me, "Mr T., why do you think things happen like this?"

I told him I didn't know but that it has to be for a reason and hopefully we would be able to figure it all out one day.

The little boy who inspired me to become a teacher was now my student, seven years later. I've had Shaq in my classes for a while now and our deep bond grows every day.

It's not always easy. He doesn't always want to do the work.

I have to stop sometimes and remind him how important education is and will continue to be for him.

I have to stop and remind him not to feel sorry for himself; to have gratitude.

Sometimes I have to pull him out of class and remind him of his goals. I have to stop and inspire Shaq.

Matthew Tucker teaches at Greenburgh-Graham, a Special Act district in Hastings-on-Hudson. Before becoming a teacher, he volunteered at Blythedale Children's Hospital in Valhalla.