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At 6 years old, Whitner was playing catch in his Kinsman Road driveway, and the ball rolled into the street. He darted out after it and was struck by a car driving down the street. His mom, Deborah Robinson, got the call at work that her eldest son had been hit by a car, and she was convinced he was dead.
"Nobody would tell me anything but that he had been hit," she said. "All I could think of was that he was gone and they weren't telling me."
She raced home from her job at a nearby nursing home, blinded by her tears and screaming hysterically. "I could've been killed myself," she said. She was driven to Rainbow Babies & Children's Hospital, where Whitner had been taken by ambulance.
"I had to be strong in front of him," she said. "But the doctors told me he'd probably never walk again and that he'd never, ever play sports again."
Whitner's legs had been shattered in 15 places, and he was placed in a full-body cast for six months. Robinson bought a little red wagon to cart him around, and carried him up and down the stairs at home. After that, he was placed in a half-cast for another eight weeks and then had to learn how to walk all over again.
"He kept trying to tear those casts off his legs," she said. Whitner vividly recalls being told by the doctors that he would probably never walk again.
"Even when you're 6, you understand what it means when somebody tells you you're not going to walk or play sports again," said Whitner. "It was the first time in my life where I actually had to believe in myself when nobody else did."
About four months after he took those first steps, he asked his mom to buy him a basketball hoop.
"I didn't want to do it," said Robinson. "I was so scared those little legs were going to pop. But I couldn't say no. He was so under the weather that he needed something. Sports was all he thought about."
Before long, Whitner was shooting hoops. By age 8, he wanted to play Pop Warner football, but knew his mom would never let him. He forged her signature and had his aunt help him get the physical.
"One day, his coach called me and said, 'Where's Donte? He's missed a few practices and we really need him!' " recalled Robinson. "I said, 'You must be talking about one of my nephews. Donte doesn't play football.' "
Robinson searched the back porch and found Whitner's hidden uniform.
"He had stopped going because he thought I wouldn't approve," said Robinson, who keeps the forged registration form in a frame. "And he's right, I probably would've never let him play."
As time went on, word kept getting back to Robinson about how good her son was in football. "I went and watched and I could see what they were talking about, when I was able to keep my eyes open."
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