By Audrey Sillett Lintner
Psst. C’mere. I’ve got a confession to make. I don’t actually have a hero.
It’s true. While other kids were making pillowcase capes and construction paper firefighter helmets, I was scratching my head and wondering if I had some sort of Vitamin H deficiency.
Don’t get me wrong; there are lots of people that I admire. Ira Hayes and his service brethren, united forever in a single iconic image. John Lennon and Paul McCartney, who distilled the feelings of an entire generation into perfectly crafted lyrics. Jonas Salk, developer of a vaccine that saved untold numbers of lives and livelihoods. I deeply admire all of them, and many others. But heroes?
I don’t know.
Maybe the current cult of celebrity hero-worship has me shying away from the term hero. Or maybe I just have a different definition than the media would put forth.
I know who I would like to view as a hero.
One of the definitions of hero is “one who is regarded as a model or ideal”. Wouldn’t that be an amazing way to start your day? Seeing the personification of an ideal looking back at you from the mirror? Not in a needing-to-be-worshiped kind of way, but in a quiet and heart-centered way, knowing that you have given and will continue to give your best to every effort.
In spite of naysayers, like my friend who is fighting for prosthetic parity. In spite of physical, mental, or emotional difficulties, like the beautiful special needs children and adults that I meet. In spite of all odds, like my sister who not only finds her own footing, but pulls up others that fall.
Maybe I do have heroes after all.photos courtesy of stock.xchng