Posted on 02/06/2003 9:16:35 AM PST by Apolitical
Happy birthday bump!
I have this thing about having heroes. But I guess most people do.I would imagine that everyone needs them in their lives, it seems to me that it would be somewhat sad not to have a hero or two ... or more.
There was the Duke, first and always the Duke. There were characters out of the few books my father would find in a society that burned books and banned ideas, and from the old black and white movies still shown on TV. There was Ivanhoe and his love Rowena who taught me the meaning of chivalry; the roguish, smirking knave who accepted me into his band of Merry Men and will forever suspiciously resemble Errol Flynn and never, ever Kevin Costner; the hawkish, dark and brooding genius to whom everything was simply "elementary" to the amazement of the faithful Dr. Watson. These were the heroes of my youth.
But boys grow into men, and the heroes of childhood take their place in the shelves of youthful memories, tucked away in the far recesses of the mind. Old and well-worn friends of days gone by we see them for what they are, flights of fancy in a young boy's dreams.
When asked to name our heroes, and being good sons and daughters of good and loving parents, most of us will reply: my father, my mother or both, I think that's a given. It certainly holds true for me, I owe more than most to mine; they gave it all up to afford me the opportunity to grow up free, they paid for that opportunity with hard work and love. The young couple who started a new life for themselves and their two young children with a hundred dollars and a dream are my heroes, and they're older now, but not in my eyes. In my eyes, they are eternal and unchanging like a picture that will not fade with time.
That's another thing about heroes. When we think about them, they are the same today as they were the day they became larger than life. The football player who made the catch deemed to be immaculate, the Yankee man of iron who in the face of death proclaimed himself the luckiest man on the face of the earth, the guy who never left your side, even when the bullets were really flying; distinctive images forever burned into our minds, images which will never change.
I have lots of heroes, I guess. The writers and actors and musicians who have both influenced and delighted me by their talent, the athletes who have inspired and amazed me with their God-given abilities; the ordinary people who showed me the strength of the human spirit. We know these people as heroes too; the quiet black woman who refused to stand when seating was readily available, the man who stood down a column of iron monsters with nothing but paper grocery bags in his hands; the men and women in uniforms of every color who have given their lives in the defense of the country, and those who wear them today, ready to do the same. The teacher who refuses to believe that a child is unreachable, the doctors who leave their comfortable offices and fly into the heart of poverty in the name of humanity.
Most of all, I admire the visionaries. The people who dare to dream and tell us that dreams are achievable if we are willing to work hard and persevere. The people who envision a world were the sun is always rising on a better tomorrow, who see morning again after the darkest of nights. Let me tell you about one of my heroes. The only one that will ever come close to that place held by the man and woman who gave me life and liberty.
My hero was born in a humble home. That seems to be a prevailing theme running through the lives of heroes, childhood's which didn't telegraph the greatness to come. He played football and baseball and held summer jobs while growing up in a typical American home, in a typical American town.
This is the stuff heroes are made of, the stuff America is made of. Small towns and football games and Fourth of July picnics; summer forays to the local swimming hole, sweethearts' dances and Church bake sales. These are the towns that form American heroes, they kindle the fire that tempers American steel, and they give birth to giants.
If there's a word to describe this hero of mine, that word would have to be "giant." I close my eyes to picture him and he seems to tower above. He dominated and shone with the pristine light of the newly-born sun on a clear, spring morning. He stood on the edge of the dawn leading the way to a vision of a better America, and made me believe that what had always been the best about America still was, that we were what was best about America.
You see, he made me believe in myself. He made me believe that the vision of a shining city on a hill was not flight of fancy, but rather an achievable reality. He made me want to lead and not follow.
This giant, this hero of heroes awakened the dormant fire of traditional values in my heart. He set them ablaze with his vision, and with his words he conquered a nation. No one articulated the vision of a glorious future better than he did, I have never known a better communicator and may never know one again.
Some call him "the Gipper," some call him "Dutch," those closest to him call him Ronnie. They all love him as intensely. He is older now, and ravaged by cruel illnesses; they say that the great communicator is trapped in a vault of silence, and that he is weak and frail. But not in my eyes and not in my heart.
There, in my memory, Ronald Reagan stands tall and firm, one hand raised to the sky and one holding Nancy's; and with the Stars and Stripes flying proudly behind him, he tells me once more that "It's morning again in America" and by God, I believe him. He will always be the American Joshua who brought down the evil walls of an evil empire in the name of Freedom. He is still today, the man that gave wings to the dream of an America unchallenged during the darkest of times. He saw that rainbow shining down on that city on a hill and dared us to follow it, and behind him, we marched into the future unconcerned and unafraid.
He is today, as he will always be simply "Mr. President", and he is a hero to me. Eternal and unchanging like a picture that will not fade with time.
I guess that's the thing about heroes, time can't stand up to them.
Copyright Luis Gonzalez 2001
only because they are snickering so hard...couldn't help it, sorry, just that not everyone thought he was quite the genius and saint that others did
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