By Roger Grein

Several years ago angels were the rage. There were books and television shows about them. Features appeared in the newspaper. Talk show personalities pondered them, cakes were decorated with them, drivers dangled them from rearview mirrors.

They were everywhere. Angels came as handsome young men and as lissome young women. They came in colorful ceramics and 14-karat jewelry and were even dyed in the bristles of doormats.

Theologians, amazed that the popular culture came calling, curmudgeonly put forth their two cents. The California Angels, not to be left out, won the World Series.

And then, as fads will do, the angels went away. I can't tell you why they went away. Or what replaced them. I don't usually keep up with such things. But when the angel hoopla hit - well, it touched a nerve with me. In a nice way.

Remember the movie "It's a Wonderful Life"? Jimmy Stewart, Donna Reed and Clarence Oddbody, the erstwhile angel? The movie told the story of how we are all blessings to one another. George Bailey comes to see all the good that would never have happened had he not been born. Even though his daily deeds had never seemed of any great import, he had, just through his goodness and his intercession on behalf of others, made a tremendous difference in the world. He was the angel, the real-life one.

And so when the angel fad came out, I wondered, in a chuckling kind of way - does anyone recall George Bailey? Don't we understand that angels are all around us, and that they are us?

My life has had a few more turns than most. I was conceived out of wedlock and adopted. I experienced a birth injury and have lived with several disabilities. There were times when my life could have headed south, and yet always at crucial junctures, someone appeared who took me by the nape of the neck and lifted me to safety.

My mother was mentally handicapped and taken advantage of in the upstairs of a roadhouse. My father, when learning of my conception, planned an abortion. He was on his way to get my mother when a friend of my mother's learned what was happening. And so when my father arrived, this friend greeted him with a fist in the air. "You'll not take a life today," she said. And he didn't.

That was angel number one.

A year later I was adopted. My adoptive father was away at war and my new mother was home by herself with me. I was her only child, so when I started doing things that weren't quite normal, she thought they would pass. I rolled around like a weeble toy instead of trying to stand. Drool flowed from my mouth. I made strange sounds. The neighbors and other family members were discreet for a while, but then they told my mother that something was very wrong. When a specialist confirmed it, they said I should be taken back to the adoption agency. (You could do that in those days.) My mother hadn't gotten a square deal, family and friends said. I was a defective.

My mother didn't listen. Angel number two.

Twelve or so years later, I went out for sports. My adoptive father loved sports. He went to every game he could and always took me. It was no secret he wanted a son who could hit the long ball, catch the bomb, sink the basket. I wanted to do those things, too.

But my legs didn't work the way the legs of others did. I ambled a bit. It wasn't such a big deal for walking, but it made a spectacle when I tried to run. When I went out for basketball, my friends raced after the ball. They dribbled and threw it, but they didn't throw it to me. I ran this way and that and fell a lot. My legs made funny angles. The next day I read the roster taped on the wall. My friends made the team. I was cut.

Trying out for sports is an induction into the hard rules of life. There's no blurring of who's in and who's out. And in the mind of a 12-year-old of who's worthy and who's not. I was crushed.

And as I turned from the roster and limped down the hall, the coach appeared from somewhere. He put his arm around my shoulders. He said he needed a manager for the basketball team, and he couldn't think of anyone more responsible and that it would really help the team if I accepted.

Angel number three.

All through my life, angels have interceded on my behalf. Some stayed around a while, some appeared briefly and left. Angels helped me get a college education, helped me become a coach, helped me start a successful business. Sure, I worked at it all. But I'm under no illusion I succeeded on my merits alone. The wings of angels lifted me.

You're one of those angels. And so am I.

(Roger Grein is a Cincinnati businessman, philanthropist and former coach. He can be contacted through his website at www.rogergrein.com.)