Practically There

Heroes

A Hero. Generally looked upon as somebody who commits an act of remarkable bravery or who has shown great courage, strength of character, or another admirable quality, at least that is what Merriam-Webster has to say about the matter. Recently my daughter made it known to me that she had a hero, though in her characterization this person was really something more of a guidepost, nonetheless, her hero is not an actor, an athlete or celebrity of any kind. He doesn't he possess super-human strength, see through walls or for that matter have a cape or wear his underwear on the outside of his tights. He is in actuality an ordinary man who, in his life, has done extraordinary things despite every obstacle imaginable being thrown into his path and he has done so with a humility, humanity and a sense of humor that leave those of us who have had comparatively easy lives to question what it is that is wanting in our character, in our very make-up, that we feel that we must complain, condemn and criticize in order to feel passable, if not superior, to our contemporaries. Mike, as we will call him because that is his name, has CP. That is the last that I will mention it because Mike never does.

Mike is an "excuse assassin"; there is nothing that he will not try or goad someone else into trying with him. He has a PhD in Anthropological Linguistics (yes, you read it correctly), three Master's degrees, one in Mathematical Statistics, one in Anthropology and the other in Computer Science (I suspect that he will have a forth one of these days as he has an insatiable thirst for knowledge and a resolve and spirit that are nothing less than astounding). Despite many hardships, trials and tribulations, Mike (along with his lovely wife, Anne) is never ceasing in his generosity of time, of ideas and of spirit and quite honestly, I am not sure of which I am more proud, that it is my privilege to call Mike a friend or that we have raised a daughter whom is so exceptional and clearly defined in her assessment of what indeed, and in deed, is central to the very essence of a role model and how she would wish to make her contribution to humanity. Both.

It was really Madi's (my daughter) fundamental perception of what makes for a personal champion that got me to thinking about my own heroes, how the heroes that we choose to emulate in our lives seem to define how we see ourselves and what it says about who we are now (wow, that was a mouthful). As for me, since my childhood my heroes have mainly been imaginative and prolific men with crinkly eyes. Gene Kelly, Garrison Keillor and Michael Palin (and, no, my father is not an imaginative and prolific man with crinkly eyes so don't bother even going there). Of course, there were astounding women that I admired and that I desperately longed to be like as well; Eleanor of Aquitaine, Dorothy Parker, Audrey Hepburn. But it was the men, ahhh, the men, each one of them revealing different features, prompting distinct and individual qualities in my emergent adolescence and my formative years.

Gene Kelly, well, Mr. Kelly had grace, an utterly Irish charm and a crooked smile like my own. He was an athlete and an innovator, a man's man with an artist's vision: things that I so wanted to be (okay, other than the man's man thing). Oh, yes, and he had great legs, this I knew at age 11.

Garrison Keillor was my composition technique tour guide. "G" was the writer in which I found a basis for the early, unperturbed and open writing style that I chose to adopt (yes, yes, great ones originate, passable artists copy; guess which one I am). Side note - having met him recently, I can say in all honesty that Mr. Keillor seems to be just a lovely, gifted and truly gracious man. I say "seems" because if he is not all of these things then you can add damn fine actor to his list of attributes.

If Eleanor of Aquitaine was wise, strong-willed, fearless and resolute, well then, I would be too. Dorothy Parker was urbane and razor-sharp, so I'd take a stab at being erudite also. Audrey Hepburn, quite simply Audrey Hepburn was kind and stunningly beautiful. I was neither. But goals are good, even impossible ones.

Then there was Mr. Palin. Little story - I was not allowed to watch Monty Python in those seminal years, but I, unlike many of my friends, had my own television. It was one of those small 13" jobbies that I had gotten as a trade from my parents for my dog (long story) and at 11:30 on Channel 17, when my parents thought that I had long been asleep, I would sit right up close to the TV with my nose nearly touching the screen and the sound turned just about down to naught, and I would watch Michael, John, Terry, Terry, Graham, and Eric (and Carol) with a devotion that bordered on the spiritual. And while I had a soft spot for all of these gentlemen, I, well, how should I say it, was just simply and utterly feral in my adoration for Mr. Palin. Funny, intelligent and completely agreeable, Mr. Palin was, I believe, my first crush. Strangely, this was something that I more or less kept to myself for fear that if I referenced it in any way that others would then feel the same and I would then be forced to share him; splitting off little morsels of Michael and allocating them here and there to persons whom I did not feel were worthy of his smidgens (that did sound a bit naughty, didn't it?). In retrospect, clearly I was insane. I have never met the man and accordingly have no entitlement to his smidgens or their distribution. Actually I have no wish to meet him as I am confident that I would do little more than shuffle my feet, stare at my shoes (thereby affording him a spectacular view of the grey band, in dire need of a touch-up, that runs along the apex of my cranium) and blather some incoherent drivel, "…You, me like…stupid…me…" This would then be followed by an extended period of quiet sobbing; probably mine. Maybe his.

In hindsight, if we were we to revisit the heroes of our childhood I suspect that we would find little glimmers of the selves we know today, something of a miscellany of traits that we hoped for ourselves at some point in our future; an adulthood which at the time seemed an eternity away. (I don't know about you but my eternity got a running head start and before I knew it I had been unloaded into this rather seedy neighborhood that I have dubbed Later Life Land).

So, I will leave you with this; think back on whom it was in your early days that you wanted so desperately to be like and what was it about him or her (or them) in particular that sparked such enthusiasm? Was your hero an athlete who inspired you to run faster or jump higher? Or maybe it was what they stood for; the integrity of the sport, the struggle of the underdog or the humble tip of the hat acknowledging the devotion of the fans. Perhaps your personal champion was an actor, a writer, a dignitary or a spiritual leader. Could it be that the person that you most admired was someone a little more familiar; a parent, teacher, a coach, or even a sibling. It could have even been a fictional character, I mean, who didn't want to be Thor, God of Thunder or Penelope Pit stop (and yes, I have just established how painfully out of date I am). The point is that regardless of whom you were drawn to as a role-model there was a reason; an impetus to fashion yourself after that individual. The qualities that we found so attractive, yea those many, many, many years ago are more than likely the very traits that we recognize and relish in the people we are today. I can only hope that as my life's legacy someone would find me to be honorable, gifted or in some other way worthy of being his or her role model. Hmmmm. On second thought, no. That's an awful lot of pressure. So, I guess instead I just take whatever is behind curtain #3.

But, then again, that just me talking.

"Man's main task in life is to give birth to himself, to become what he potentially is."
-Erich Fromm, Man for Himself