To say it was a crazy cycling news day would be an understatement. All day, my Twitter feed was abuzz with commentary; I did not fuel the fire in either agreement or disagreement, but I have given it a lot of thought today. What makes someone a hero? What makes someone perceived as “nice” less of a villain when accused of the same only a short time ago? Why are some given a pass, and others an unforgiving fail? I was thinking about heroes on my way home from work…
My dad was my hero.
He never finished grammar school because as the oldest son, he needed to support his brother and mother when his father left them. And yet, he was one of the most creative, funny, and intelligent men I’ve ever known. With five kids in our family, we never had a lot of stuff but he brought laughter into our house every single day. I had a happy childhood…not perfect, but really happy.
I remember sitting around the dinner table listening to him recount parts of his day. He was a truck driver and would venture into parts of the city that we’d never seen, but could imagine as he would tell us about it. After a physically demanding day, he would devour the delicious meals my mother put in front of us. When I got older, I understood the glances and laughter between them as private jokes that only they shared. Of course they argued at times, but it was obvious to anyone around them that he was still crazy in love with the girl he met when they were teenagers…this woman he built a life and family with for more than 45 years.
Growing up, there was no such thing as the tooth fairy. Instead, it was an original cartoon character that he conceived and brought to life via his imagination and his hand. And each time one of us lost a tooth, that character would leave us a note and little drawings along with our quarters. He taught me to drive and how to read a map to get somewhere on my own. He taught me independence, and was kind to everyone he met. He didn’t yell when I had my first car accident, and to this day I never parallel park without his voice in my head saying, “You can fit in this space; I could park my truck in here.”
After my mother passed away, we were sorting through her belongings and we found dozens of funny poems and short stories that he wrote to her – sometimes an apology after an argument, or in one case, after he destroyed a cake she had made. How we wished we knew the backstory on that one! And then we found letters that he wrote in submission of a shaving cream company’s contest soliciting ad campaign ideas. And other bits of his creativity that were pushed to the back because he needed to do the honorable thing and work hard to support his family.
Those are the things that make a man a hero…not playing a sport or appearing on TV or being in the spotlight.
I read so many comments by people who were sad and angry by the news today. If we stop making heroes of humans we don’t know, there can be no disappointment. We vilify people for their choices, yet really have no idea which path we would choose given the same circumstances. We can only speculate – and trust – that we would choose to do the “right” thing. Would we be hero or villain?
I lost my dad in 1986, which was way too soon. My mother always told me that I’m just like him.
I can only hope.