The self-described "skinny kid" wearing a tailored sports coat over a grey T-shirt that read "Love Your Neighbor" asked everyone in the Elder High School gym to stand. Then, he called on everyone to hug a stranger.

That gesture of human contact, the recognition of another person, could potentially save a life, Singleton said. He spouted off numbers about depression and lamented the fact that people don't take time out to offer compassion enough to really see one another. And, then he shared the details behind the worst day of his life. You've heard the story, but not this point of view.

The skinny kid is Christopher Singleton. He has every reason in the world to be bitter.

On June 17, 2015, his mother was one of nine people killed at Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church. The shooter was a self-described white supremacist and racist. The killer fired 77 shots in all, six of which hit 45-year-old Sharonda Coleman-Singleton in her chest, Singleton said pointing at his heart.

Singleton was an 18-year-old baseball star when he was called to the church from a summer league baseball game. Police cars and ambulances were everywhere when he arrived. He sat on a church pew. The county coroner apologized. She asked him to describe his mother.

Was it that bad?

"She is 5-foot-9. She has short, curly hair, always smiling. She wore a black suit that day."

The coroner interrupted. "I'm sorry to tell you that your mother has died."

Yet, within 24 hours of his mother's death, on three hours of sleep, Singleton stood puffy-eyed and shoulder to shoulder with his baseball family and held a press conference with a poise that defied his years. He told the world he had already forgiven his mom's killer.

"Love is always stronger than hate," he said. “If we just love the way my mom would, then the hate won’t be nearly as strong as the love is.”

In the year's since, he has traveled all over the country, to places like Elder's gymnasium, sharing a message of overcoming the unthinkable adversity, faith, diversity and inclusion, and forgiveness.

"When I forgave, I felt like forgiveness was a thousand-pounds that was lifted off my back. You know, there's no more burden than to have to get back at somebody, no revenge that I have to seek," he told the group.

"When I think about forgiveness, I can't help but think about ultimate forgiveness. I think about Jesus being on the cross. And he says 'forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do.'

His answer to those who wonder how can he forgive someone who means him and his family harm: "I say how can I not forgive? I'm already forgiven."

Singleton says he has struggled with PTSD from the tragedy and is still working on that. Things are looking up, though. He was drafted in 2017 by the Chicago Cubs organization and spent last season as an outfielder for the South Bend Cubs in the Midwest League.

He is a new dad. And on Feb. 19, he will marry his fiance, Mariana on Lifetime Network. After living with other relatives after the shooting, his younger sister and brother, Camryn and Caleb, now live with him.

Singleton has become a compelling orator and the poise that he showed in the hours after his mom died has become more refined. He has an easy charisma, and he leads with compassion.

Whether on the baseball diamond or on a larger stage, you get the feeling that he is built for greater works.

Byron McCauley is an Enquirer columnist and member of the Editorial Board. Email: bmccauley@enquirer.com. Phone: 513-504-8915. @byronmccauley