A question was posed to me that I had no answer for, one that no amount of education would ever help me solve. Were there heroes left in the world? I did not believe that there were any heroes left, but I had looked over a large group of people. The veterans, so easily missed, but so immediately important. I felt ignorant for looking over them and even a little ashamed. They were the arteries of America, the people that could not be severed, and we survive. I think a good portion of America overlooks them but they cannot be simply tossed aside. They are the past, present, and future.
I once met this man who was dressed in rags, rags that couldn’t even fend off the cold. Beneath the ice, grime, dust, and scraps of cloth, sat a man who had once saved my life. Before my life was a flicker, when the only company I kept was the mind of God, this man fought for me. Not knowing my name, not knowing the life I would live, he valiantly placed all he had on the line. The thing that made this man especially important was that he signed up. This man who was now crippled, deformed, submerged in poverty, and emaciated, had signed up for this. But perhaps, I thought, he had signed up to be a crutch for America thinking that one day, when he needed it, America would be his crutch. Perhaps this man who everybody walked by each day, was more wise that Solomon himself; he lived, gave up and gave all for America.
I invited this man into McDonalds with me. I offered breakfast, but even now in this deplorable state, he was embarrassed to take anything. He silently resigned any pride he had, because he knew that he might not get another meal for days. I was proud to gift this man with something so simple, much simpler than the life he had gifted me with. As he recalled those days so long ago, the bright colors of the jungle, and the sadness of loss, I saw his eyes fade. I knew now that his mind was in a place long ago. Places where had been fit and in fighting form, where he had seen friends die and had to take lives. I saw the man he once was, the preacher’s son, the father, and the iron worker. This man, who now sat on the side of the rode with a cup begging for food, was recalling the best days of his life. I felt even more amazed because he chose to share it with me.
I walked away from my breakfast with a new lease on life. I had once believed, so naively, that there were no superhero’s left, but now I knew. Now I knew that the man who had provided me a home, speech, and quite simply freedom was a superhero. He was not dressed in tights and a tunic, wore a cape, or flew high and jumped tall buildings; his one power was hidden deep inside and deep in history. My “hero” begged on the corner, but he was still a hero. In the cartoons the ideal hero has to get the girl, save the day, and be loved and cherished by all. So why wasn’t my hero having a hero’s welcome, why wasn’t he in a parade? It was because he was humble and just proud to serve. He had not signed up for the fame and glory, but to preserve what he loved most.
On my way back to my home, provided by my hero, I saw a new veteran get off a bus. He ran into the waiting arms of a wife and a young boy. This was his parade. The pride in his son’s eyes was enough. I now realized why young men signed up. They loved the pride it invoked. So if I am ever posed the question, do heroes exist, I will be able to answer with a confident yes. I know now that hero’s come in many packages but our veterans are the most gallant. That no matter where America expands, what level it falls to, or how many sad days it’ll see, these hero’s will always be there to save the day. Next time you see a hero, remember to thank them. Life, America, and the lives we live now would not and could not be possible without them. Thank you veterans.
