Heroes

Heroes

This day and age when folks look at movie stars, rock stars, country singers, and professional athletes as their heroes, I thought it would be fun to ask several of my friends – who and why – is your hero.

I was really surprised at some to the answers.

One wrote: “Lets take the people that raised us now - they are heroes. I find that my hero, my mom, made many mistakes along the way, readily admitted to me she was not the best parent and was sorry for a lot of things she had done. She apologized to me for not leaving any thing of monitory value. i said, “Mom, you were the best parent a child could hope for. You loved me for who I was no matter how bad I screwed up. You were always there for me and more importantly and I knew I was loved. What more could I have asked for from a parent and a hero.” A real parent sacrifices her whole life for her family and not once asks for any notoriety, does not want or expect to be put on a pedestal, all she ever asked for was respect. In closing I guess I’m saying any one can be a hero for a day or two, but try being a hero all your life and own up to your mistakes and give unconditionally without wanting your in name in lights or being in the newspaper because you just happen to do something right one day and turn around and screw up the rest of your life, well to me, that’s a real live hero they give and never ask or expect any thing but cry when you give them a hug and tell them you love them.”

Another wrote: “ it may sound a little cliché but my husband Gary is my hero.

I've been going through a lot with my mother for the past ten years - her

health is failing. It's been heart surgery, broken arm, kidneys failing,

advanced osteo-arthritis and the list just keep going. Just when I think

I'm going down for the count, there he is lifting me up and telling me

everything is going to be all right. He has taken over more of my

responsibilities than I can shake a stick at. He can ease my mind when I

feel like the walls are closing in on me. He's the constant blessing that

I thank God for everyday. He's the strongest and the gentlest man I have

ever known. He's my hero.”

Another wrote: “My mom is my HERO. She led is very simple life as a child. As a wife and mother, she did the same. Never asking for more than what the LORD provides and also thankful for what she has or doesn't have. She has been an example of God's servant; always placing other's needs before hers and always in prayer. Did a wonderful job raising eight (8) children demanding nothing in return but RESPECT and LOVE for God, family and friends.”

Another wrote: “My great grandmother, Granny Butler. In Sept. 1961, I was just a new 7 years old. Hurricane Carla wiped out my life and for years I though it was Carla that destroyed my parent’s marriage and my life. We went to Granny's in San Marcos to ride out the storm. Granny's house was always opened to folks. When my dad left to go back to the coast to get the house repaired he didn't come back to get me. I was left with my mother to live with Granny. She was an angel. While my mother was out carousing at night, Granny fixed me supper, tucked me in, took me on walks, fed me cold peaches on hot days and scolded me for not wearing a bonnet outside. She never laid a hand on me but the soft look and the tilt of her head would let me know right away to straighten up. One very cold day I had to walk to school. I had no coat. Mama spent child support on other things. So Granny wrapped me in the softest hand crocheted shawl. It was a huge thing so she doubled it and put it over my head and body. I just knew I would be the laughing stock of the school in 4th grade, but instead the girls were all nice and cozy with me. For playground, we huddled together and they shared their coats while we put Granny's shawl all around us. It was great. We giggled and laughed because we made our own little tent against the cold and boys.

She also played many an hour of checkers with me. Her eyesight was bad, so I would put white chalk on the black wooden checkers so she could see the pieces on the board. I watched her one day take her little black coin purse and gingerly pull out the money she was saving from her pension to pay the for butane tank refill. Then with my eyes as big as saucers she gave it to my mama. I couldn't believe it because I knew she was saving for the tank. But it kept my mama from going to jail over something--I never knew what. While I lived with my mama, we were constantly on the move. From 3rd grade to 6th I attended 11 different elementary schools, was almost held back a year because I missed so much school. But every time we had a move in the wee hours, we ended up back at Granny's who always took us back in, fed us and took care until the next outburst from my mother and we packed and left again.

When in sixth grade and a recent move back to San Marcos from Bellaire, my mama had a huge explosion one day. My mama hit and beat me. Claiming I stole her stuff. My Granny had come in the back door and came to my room where the yelling was. I remember her walking in and the look in her face showed fright, but she tightened her arms across her body and said "Mary Lois!! Stop!" My mama was in the process of stripping me of my clothes and threatened to put a diaper on me and drop me off on a corner downtown by the courthouse so people could see what a baby I was. I remember that my mama turned and I really thought she was going to hit my Granny. I was scared and confused and crying awful. But, I truly believe that God sent and angel right at that moment and stopped her hand. She just through her hand over and stormed out of the room, cussing. The end of my sixth grade year, I wasn't told, but my mama gave me up to live with my dad and step-mom. My living with Granny never happened again and I didn't get to see her very much after that. I hated it as loved her so much and her sweet, gentle ways with me. She was my angel, my comforter, my friend, my checker player, my cook, my teacher, my listener, my love and my HERO.”

Another wrote: “My hero was my mother. She came from a family of 9 children. Her father died from an accident when she was only 7 years old. Born in 1922, she was affected by the Depression. They lived in Oklahoma and would pick different crops to put food on the table. By the age of 9, she was cooking on a wood burning stove while the rest of the family went to pick cotton or any other crops that needed to be harvested. She would prepare their meals and take it to them in the fields. Later when she was a teenager, she would clean other people's houses for a whole whopping 50 cents per week and she worked 5 days a week. But, then, shoes were a nickel and dresses cost 15 cents. My grandmother never got help from any of her family or her in-laws. In fact, mother told the story that her paternal grandfather came one day and took their only dairy cow. He said that his son had owed him money and he was taking the cow in lieu of the money. He never seemed bothered that his own grandchildren would be adversely affected by his actions. My mother never forgave him and often said that if he had been on fire, she wouldn't have crossed the street to spit on him. She felt sure that her grandfather had even lied about the debt so that only added to the animosity. It instilled in her the standard that you always told the truth no matter what the consequences. But, because money was tight and everyone had to work, she only made it to the 7th grade. She always did whatever she could to encourage us to make better grades and to finish high school. That was her main goal that all of her children finish high school. She was thrilled when I went to college. But, she was even more than just the mother who made sure that we made it through high school. When I went through my divorce, she opened her home and welcomed me and my daughter to stay with her for as long as we needed to. My daughter was only 9 when I left my husband and I worried about her being a "latchkey" kid. I was more than happy to stay with my mother because I knew that while I was at work, my daughter had a safe place to go. And, because my daughter was there for 5 years, she was able to form a bond with my mother that no other grandchild had a chance to have. My daughter just had her first child and she named her baby, Audrey Elise with Elise being a tribute to my mother whose name was Elsie. I couldn't have been more proud. I know a lot of people will say their mother or their father is their hero and it may seem a little clichéd to pick one of those people. But, my mother was such an influence on my own life that it trickled down to my daughter in the form of "you will give me 4 years of college!" I not only got the 4 years but my daughter went on to medical school and is now a pediatrician. I know my mom would be so proud. So, yes, she is my hero.”

Today many will say that those who died on 9-11 are their heroes. Heroes come in all shapes, forms, ages, and careers. I hope that you’ve got a special someone in your life that has made an impact on you or is your hero. We all need heroes of some sort. We all need examples – and just hope along life’s way that we are each leaving not only footprints in the sand – but we leave a footprint on hearts as well. Pass a good day.