The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles drive down New York Street at Disney-MGM Studios to perform another show. Photo: Disney.

It was hot at the Disney-MGM Studios, topping out at 97 degrees Fahrenheit. The costumes added as much as 15 more degrees to the heat. They were like walking around in your own baking oven. The four performers who wore them carried around a lot of weight too. They were muscular martial arts athletes performing as the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I was their coordinator.

In the 1990s, The Turtles (TMNT) were all the rage. Every boy wanted to meet them, exchange high-fives with them, and get an autograph and photo. My job was to escort the four turtle characters—Donatello, Leonardo, Michelangelo and Rafael—and the actress playing their gal-pal, April O’Neil, on and off set.

The show consisted of a ride to the location in a specially built turtle van, a martial arts dance demonstration on stage, a meet and greet with the excited youngsters and a ride back to the break location. From door-to-door took thirty-five minutes. There then was an essential 45-minute gap for recuperation and fluid replenishment between shows.

On this day, it was different.

I got word, during the show, that a Make-a-Wish child named Timothy was waiting for us backstage. Make-a-Wish is an organization that, as its name implies, grants the wishes of critically ill children. This child’s prognosis was terminal. He didn’t have much time left and his dying wish was to meet the TMNT.

The guys and April came off stage, panting, sweating and exhausted from the heat. I quickly explained the situation. Through gasps for air, all the guys and April agreed. We skipped the break room and the cool down period, so that we could spend 15 minutes with Timothy.

Timothy was adorable despite of the obvious challenges he had staying lucid. He did, fortunately, come to life as soon as the TMNT walked up. High-fives were enthusiastically, and very gingerly, exchanged all around. He mumbled something that we thought was, “I’ve waited my whole life to meet you.”

Sweat wasn’t the only liquid flowing. The parents were in tears. So was April. So was I. So were the guys. They were, perversely, the lucky ones. No one could see their tears. You could tell, however, how moved they were. The tenderness of their behavior, especially considering their bulk, was a marvel.

Although we had planned on only being with Timothy for fifteen minutes, fifteen became twenty, then twenty-five, then thirty. I finally had to pull the guys away. Time was short and hydration was an issue.

We said tearful goodbyes to Timothy, sped back to the break area where April and I poured liquid down the guys’ throats and wiped the sweat off their faces. We then turned around and drove back to the stage for our next show.

I still think about that day and the dedication of those four athletes to a little boy they would never see again. It made me thankful for the performances we did and how special it was to be able to fulfill a dying boy’s last wish. Our performances weren’t just craft, they were a chance to serve those who really mattered, especially a little boy who we, and he, were thankful to have shared a moment together. His name was Timothy.

Happy Thanksgiving. Always remember what matters.