Living Among Heroes

Life isn’t always easy, and it certainly isn’t always fun. Of funny, despite my often used sense of humor, even if it is dark sometimes. We all look for inspiration or examples and while I can understand putting on a good movie or reading a good book, the vast majority of the heroes referenced a forged in war, in dramatic circumstances that seem larger than life. In truth, heroism can be a lot closer to home than we think.

Heroism isn’t always a singular brave act, charging a machine gun nest, taking a hill, rescuing a stranger from a burning car. The point is, we tend to define heroism as the singular act of an individual that rises above his or her station to accomplish something many of us aren’t capable of.

There are other kinds.

And as a father, I’m always searching for role models. As I said, times are hard right now, and you look for inspiration where you can, and find it in the strangest places. My father was one, but this one isn’t about him, this one is about my uncle.

My mom and her brothers grew up hard. Farm life in the South wasn’t a picnic, despite the idyllic scenes we like to see portrayed in Hollywood and posters. The reality is that it was a hand to mouth, dig in the dirt, dusk to dawn existence in which the entire family eked a living out of the earth not for fame or wealth but for the mere pleasure of surviving.

My uncles were rewarded for this existence by being sent to a far off land to fight a war that Uncle Sam deemed necessary. So necessary it took the lives of some 58,000 Americans and a piece of the heart and soul of tens of thousands more. Vietnam, in fact, is still taking lives in my family.

Such was the lot in life for this man.

He married, and about the time I was welcomed to the world my aunt and uncle welcomed an addition to their family. Actually, two additions, twins. A joyous occasion to be sure, but with a catch. My cousins had a disability and one, at the time, almost guaranteed they wouldn’t see adulthood. I can’t relate so I won’t try to, but to think of one of my daughters and to be almost certain that I’d outlive them by decades is a place I don’t want to go. So I won’t.

But that’s how quickly life turns. And in an instant theirs did. My uncle was now faced with things that I can’t relate to, suffice to say it dwarfs my concerns by leagues. I can’t even comprehend the level of stress, the sheer terror sometimes, it must have entailed.

Though my immediate family wasn’t poor, poverty sometimes stood outside and stared us down. It was always a paycheck or a small tragedy away. How my uncle did it is beyond me, because at times I struggle now, and certainly I struggled as a young man to make ends meet. More children than us, medical challenges, financial challenges and all of it without end and without respite. And without complaint.

So my uncle worked. He worked and worked and provided and held that world on his shoulders for decades now. By all rights and understandably it would break many. Hell, most. I include myself in that. But to know him is to understand the grace with which he shouldered the burden, the selflessness in which he served his family, and the love and devotion he has shown them.

Alas, life is sometimes cruel, and it rewards decency and love with more challenge and strife and such is the case. I won’t go into details because frankly, it isn’t anyone’s business. The only way life resembles a video game is that each level is more difficult and the stakes far higher. Such is the case with my uncle. From afar I’ve watched this man fight his way back to his family, just so he can fight for them some more.

And that my dear friend, is a hero. That is something to strive for. Though he would be too humble to say so or acknowledge what he’s done is special, I’ll say it. He will get no ribbons or decorations, there will be no movies and his name won’t be on a memorial wall.

That men like this exist amazes me. Even shouldering all the burdens they have to carry, they can unknowingly lift up other people. It’s inspiring. It’s a strength I can’t imagine. And I share this reluctantly because it’s so personal, but gratefully because it demonstrates something we should all recognize.

Heroism isn’t always what we’re taught. Sometimes it is cloaked in humility and quiet servitude, pulling a double shift at the mill so the kids can have what they need. Sometimes, it’s a second job at Christmas so that the kids and wife can have something under a tree. And sometimes it is just doing the very best you can do with the cards life deals you.

As children, we wanted to be football players, and fighter pilots and soldiers, they were our heroes. Stories of scoring the winning run, becoming an ace, or discovering new worlds were the things we dreamed of, the things we aspired to.

Later in life, an as a father, you find yourself wanting to be other things. More important things. And you’ll find your heroes and inspirations are much closer than you think they are.

Me? I didn’t have to look too far. Turns out I’m surrounded by them.