My Hero

Dad loved his family. He defended each one: their character, their position within the family, and their right to make their own choices.

He made us a team. He kept us together and we always played, and ate dinner, and went to sleep each night together without fail.

I remember (kind of) being dressed in a white T-shirt, tucked into my perfectly pressed jeans, and my Hoss Hat. Dad wore a yellowish short sleeve shirt, pants, and tennis shoes. I sat on the handlebars in front, and I knew I didn’t have to worry about a thing, so I guess I just fell asleep. Totally relaxed, because I also knew that dad was right behind me holding that bike up. He was my hero.

We lived in a small house on 1101 Silver Lake Dr., and I remember it like I lived there my whole life. So many good times. Dad hated it because it was a dangerous area and we could have gotten hurt. Looking back though, I can see that he kept his eye out for me and I never even thought about being in danger. He was always right there with me, and I never had to worry. I just rested.

After work sometimes, Dad would come home and I remember he almost always had candy in his pocket. He would hand it out to us, and that was nice, but we really loved when he would wrap his arms around us and wrestle us to the ground. Playing like that probably only lasted for a minute, but it seemed like the greatest hour of our day. He was really there. Really present. We would all play, and eat dinner, and sleep.

There was always the pallor of financial stress, but Dad kept things going like he does. We were a team He was right there with me and told me everything was going to be fine. He never responded with judgment or anger to my rants. He just stayed with me and I never had to really concern myself with the things outside the team. Outside in the world. I just slept and everything would be ok the next day.

I was right there with Dad the day he and Mom made the decision to leave town for a city far away to start over. I felt so empty and so very alone. I was afraid, but he encouraged me like Dad does, and in the end I still didn’t have to stress. I could always rest and sleep.

I called Dad a lot. I like to talk to him. I would just invent problems to run past him. What the problem was didn’t matter so long as I could hear him work it out with me. He always had ideas, and would hear mine. He stayed with me through all my problems real or not and the answer was the same as it always was. Just rest and sleep.

Dad always made sure I remembered that other people mattered more than me. Not to him, but to that innate selfish desire we all have just beneath the surface of our instincts. Work was first for God, then for others, then for me. This is not an easy lesson to learn, and I am still learning it today, but he always reminded me, and taught me, and all I had to do was grow and rest.

This year was tough. Dad got sick. He faced what really scared him. I could see it in his face, and hear it in his voice.  He would call me often and always opened with “O, hi son.” And then would ask for my help with something. That’s how we always talked when one of us was scared. I heard in his voice that morning that he was facing a real lion. The Lion was victorious as He inevitably always is, But to Dad, that day He was was a lamb, waiting to usher Dad to Himself and into the only place where Dad can play, and eat dinner, and rest.


That Lamb, that is a Lion, is my Hero.