Heroes. Our stories are full of them. We’ve got our basic alpha males, the self-assured, cocky types, aka Mr. All That, the beta types, the Nutty Professors, the Felix Ungers—well, you get the idea.
My true to life hero pretty much encompasses all of the above at one time or another. He’s got a little bit of everything rolled up in that skin of his and I wouldn’t trade him for all the young-un’s sproutin’ peach fuzz in the world.
This morning my “hero” was a sight to behold as he walked out the door to face his last day of school (he’s a principal). Setting aside his brown paper bag (filled with today’s lunch), he shrugs on his black/red jacket (NYLON), red helmet, and black/red gloves. We go through our morning ritual where I say, “Go get ‘em, Tiger,” and he responds with a “grrr” that sounds like that trill thing that Bob Hope had going on in the good old days.
Looking every inch the tough guy, my man gives me one of those Humphrey Bogart see-you-later-baby looks, grabs his lunch bag, and then with all the hunky charm of John Wayne, walks over to his Harley—um, I mean, Helix, and climbs aboard. Now for those of you who don’t know, a Helix is not a Harley. Well, maybe Harley in grade school. That’s right, it’s a scooter—to which my hero quickly points out: “but it will go up to 70 miles per hour.” Well, sure. The speedometer on my Taurus reads up to 180 too, but does that mean I should try it?
Still, I let him live in his macho dream world. He thumps on the horn and waves. Now, let me just mention here this horn thing does not have the deep throaty sound of a semi. Think more along the lines of Herbie and you’ve pretty much got the idea.
I wave goodbye and Helix Man speeds off, kicking up a dust storm behind him. (Well, I did see two pebbles flip half an inch, just so you know.) He disappears into the morning rush hour traffic with little more than a brown paper bag and a motor with attitude. Will
So, what do YOU look for in a hero?