My Hero
Everyone has a person or persons in their lives that they look up to. They are personal heroes. Sometimes, it can be a person we've never met, like a politician or an artist or humanitarian. Perhaps it is a person who saved us from pain -- a fireman, perhaps, or a policeman. It could even be someone who taught us, and by teaching us has made us better people -- like a teacher or psychologist.
My hero is my dad.
He is the wise man whose advice it seems everyone seeks. Younger or older, successful or not, people search him out to learn what is the right thing to do. I've never once known him to be wrong.
It's more than his ability to help others help themselves, though, that makes him my hero. It's how he got to that place.
My father often says his real life began in the Marine Corp. He was a sergeant and he served in the Vietnam War. I believe, though, that his real life began a few years before, on a street corner in south Mount Vernon, NY.
I will not go into the details of the story, as he tells it far better than I could in his memoir, Meant To Be (yes, I am shamelessly and unapologetically marketing his book here), but I will say that it was that moment, sitting on the stoop when my father's will and determination was born. It is his will and determination I admire most in him.
He is the true American dream -- the boy who came from nothing and, through hard work and building the right connections, became successful. He is a survivor -- he survived a violent alcoholic father, he survived the streets, he survived war. He's done it all.
One of my proudest moments was when he agreed to join me on a charity ride I'd created to raise money for Make-a-Wish Foundation of Connecticut. In 2001 at the age of fifty-eight, he stood out there on that cool October morning in Port Jervis with three other riders, all twenty-six years his junior. There was never any question that he'd be standing 200 miles and three days later in Ithaca at the finish.
When I was growing up, he was an imperfect father. The abuse he'd endured as a child turned into a great rage as an adult and, though he was not one to physically abuse, was prone to harshness. For my part, I was an imperfect son when I was a teen. I voluntarily chose to hang out in a similar environment with similar street kids as he had tried so hard to avoid. I also had my own anger and rage.
That is all past now.
The times I spend with him today are almost always enjoyable. I listen to him. I learn from him. I ask him questions. I've joined the hundreds of others who seek his wisdom.
If you've read my blog you have an understanding of what makes me tick. You get a sense of who I am. I am a man who has learned to live life as best he can and to always do his best to be a better person.
In other words, I try to be more like my father.
My hero is my dad.
He is the wise man whose advice it seems everyone seeks. Younger or older, successful or not, people search him out to learn what is the right thing to do. I've never once known him to be wrong.
It's more than his ability to help others help themselves, though, that makes him my hero. It's how he got to that place.
My father often says his real life began in the Marine Corp. He was a sergeant and he served in the Vietnam War. I believe, though, that his real life began a few years before, on a street corner in south Mount Vernon, NY.
I will not go into the details of the story, as he tells it far better than I could in his memoir, Meant To Be (yes, I am shamelessly and unapologetically marketing his book here), but I will say that it was that moment, sitting on the stoop when my father's will and determination was born. It is his will and determination I admire most in him.
He is the true American dream -- the boy who came from nothing and, through hard work and building the right connections, became successful. He is a survivor -- he survived a violent alcoholic father, he survived the streets, he survived war. He's done it all.
One of my proudest moments was when he agreed to join me on a charity ride I'd created to raise money for Make-a-Wish Foundation of Connecticut. In 2001 at the age of fifty-eight, he stood out there on that cool October morning in Port Jervis with three other riders, all twenty-six years his junior. There was never any question that he'd be standing 200 miles and three days later in Ithaca at the finish.
When I was growing up, he was an imperfect father. The abuse he'd endured as a child turned into a great rage as an adult and, though he was not one to physically abuse, was prone to harshness. For my part, I was an imperfect son when I was a teen. I voluntarily chose to hang out in a similar environment with similar street kids as he had tried so hard to avoid. I also had my own anger and rage.
That is all past now.
The times I spend with him today are almost always enjoyable. I listen to him. I learn from him. I ask him questions. I've joined the hundreds of others who seek his wisdom.
If you've read my blog you have an understanding of what makes me tick. You get a sense of who I am. I am a man who has learned to live life as best he can and to always do his best to be a better person.
In other words, I try to be more like my father.
posted by E-Luv at 8:42 AM
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