I heard someone say the other day they wondered who the “younger generation” considers heroes. Assuming this person was talking about people in their 20s and 30s, I have no idea, but I’m hoping the list includes someone other than the cast of Entertainment Tonight.
It got me to thinking about the people I looked up to when I was very young. For sure, the Mercury astronauts were men who embodied raw courage to me. I ate up the space program, and longed to see the launch of a space flight in person. That never happened, but I’ve never lost my passion for it. I really could put every astronaut since on that list.
Helen Keller was also a figure that filled me with awe. I remember learning about her and reading her autobiography and just marveling at how she could break through the darkness and achieve so much.
Dr. Albert Schweitzer was an inspiring hero. It all sounded so mysterious and brave, to choose that life and help others as he did. To me, he defined the term “humanitarian”.
Entertainment-wise, I was a devotee of Roy Rogers. And it wasn’t because of the white hat or beautiful Trigger, it was how nice and gentle he seemed. He didn’t get snarky. He didn’t yell. He didn’t belittle those around him. He just went about doing good and being polite, without ever getting too much dust on his western shirt.
I mean, really, what’s not to like?
Over the years, (and leaving religious figures and family members out of just for simplicity’s sake), I would add other names of this list: Anwar Sadat. John Muir. Henri Nouwen. Madeleine Albright. Doctors Without Borders.
And some that I simply admire a deal for their tenacity at spreading knowledge like Neil DeGrasse Tyson. Steve Jobs.
For sheer guts and class, Jackie Robinson.
I know I’ve forgotten some that I consider heroic, but I’m not talking about people I just think are nice or talented. I mean someone who really makes you pause and consider what life would have been like without their contribution. Of course people who risk their lives daily to protect or heal others all have the stuff of heroism, and for that, I am eternally grateful. Police, first responders, firemen.
Soldiers, sailors, marines, and those in the Air Force. On a recent trip to Washington, D.C., I visited the memorials for the Vietnam War, World War II and Korean War, as well as Arlington National Cemetery. Shrines to the ultimate definition of the word “hero”.
Then there’s the doctor treating Ebola. The father who lies across his toddler as a tornado passes overhead. The mother that pulls a teenager from a burning car. The average citizen who stops a gunman from entering a school.
Maybe deep inside us, we all have what it takes to be a hero, though most of us will only perform small acts in our daily lives. Still, they matter.
Who were your heroes? Do you have new ones? Do you think it’s important to have heroes?
“We do not have to become heroes overnight. Just a step at a time, meeting each thing that comes up … discovering we have the strength to stare it down.”
Eleanor Roosevelt
My dad was always my hero. He never talked about his experience in Europe during WWII. It was only after he died that I began to understand what he went through. He was a tank mechanic. My mother had all the letters he had written to her from Europe. I read them and it was heart wrenching. He loved her deeply and mostly just told her about what they would do when he got back. He was never more than a 1/2 mile from the front lines. When a tank got knocked out he and his squad had to get to it (mostly in a hot combat zone), repair it and get it back into action. A German 88mm shell is devastating to a US Sherman tank and the occupants inside never stood a chance. So before they could fix it they had to get the bodies out. Once the tank was ready to go, they tried to clean the inside with Clorox and then white-wash it. Because of that, the tankers always knew when they were getting a tank that had already been ‘killed’. The German Tiger tank was the most feared. In one battle, one German Tiger knocked out 18 US Sherman tanks. The Sherman’s shells just bounced off the Tiger like tennis balls. It was horribly under-gunned. Needless to say my dad was very busy. He just worked and slept – 18 on, 6 off. From Normandy Beach on June 7 to Germany in May 1945. After he passed away I started buying every book I could get my hands on to learn what he did and believe it or not, I found a book with a picture of him and his squad. Although it is at a distance, my brother and I are sure that it is him. Like most men of that generation, he just went about his day anxious to move on from that past and on to family and friends. He did that and he will always be my hero. Nobody even comes close.
A story that truly says it all. Thank you for sharing.