We Didn’t Wait Until We Were Older
Max isn’t real.
But what if he was?
This is a blog written in his voice— and in the kind of courage we don’t talk about enough.
Hi. I’m Max.
I’m 14, I play hockey, I’m not great at folding laundry, and one time I tried to make chicken alfredo and it somehow… floated. Still not sure what happened there.
But also, I’m helping build something called the Hall of Champions. Which, yeah, sounds like something adults are supposed to do. That’s kind of the point.
People say things like, “You’ll do amazing things one day,” or “When you grow up…” and I get it. They mean well. But after a while, I started wondering… why does it have to be later?
One day, my brother Michael and I were at the park, just messing around, kicking a ball, talking about nothing important. And then we noticed the hospital across the street. There were kids inside. Some were laughing. Some looked really tired. Some had tubes, wheelchairs… things we didn’t fully understand, but we knew they weren’t there by choice.
We just stood there for a minute because something felt… off. Not wrong exactly. Just unfair. We were fine. And they weren’t. And once you notice something like that, it’s really hard to go back to not noticing.
That’s where this all started. Not with a plan or a strategy—just a question: what if we did something big for them?
To be honest, we had no idea what we were doing. We still don’t, most days. And a lot of people told us that. They said it was too big, too complicated, something that takes years and millions of dollars and entire teams of adults. And yeah… they’re probably right about that part.
There were days I believed them too. Days where nothing worked, or people said no, or I was trying to balance school, hockey, and this whole thing and felt like I was dropping everything at once.
But here’s what I started to realize: being a kid doesn’t actually mean you can’t do something. It just means you haven’t been told all the reasons you shouldn’t yet. Kids ask questions adults stopped asking. Kids care without needing a full plan. Kids don’t always wait for permission. And honestly… that’s kind of what got us moving in the first place.
But this isn’t just about building something. It’s about not looking away.
We met kids along the way—kids like Sofia. She painted rainbows. She smiled even when she was tired. She made everything feel a little lighter just by being there. And then one day, we walked into the hospital… and her chair was empty.
That kind of thing changes you. It makes everything feel more real. It makes “later” feel like something you can’t count on.
So we stopped waiting.
We started showing up. We listened to families. We asked questions. We tried things that might work and a lot of things that didn’t. We didn’t have it all figured out—we still don’t—but doing something, even something small, felt better than doing nothing.
The weird part is, we thought we were building something for other people. But it kind of built something in us, too.
I still play hockey. I still joke around. I still forget things I’m supposed to do sometimes. But I notice more now. I listen differently. And my world feels… bigger. Like my heart got stretched a little, in a good way.
So if you’re reading this and thinking you’re too young, or you wouldn’t even know where to start, or you’re not ready… that’s okay. We weren’t either.
You don’t need a perfect plan. You don’t need permission. You don’t even need to feel ready. You just need to care enough to not ignore something when it matters.
Because you don’t have to be famous, or rich, or powerful to change something.
You just have to notice… and then decide to do something about it.
Alright, I should probably go. OdieBoy is staring at me like I owe him a walk, and he’s usually right about these things.
– Max 🧢
