From Imaginary To Real Life Heroes (Part One)

(If you permit, I would like to continue a little on the subject of heroes. )

Like any child, my definition of a hero was based on what I saw on television or in the comic books of my day. From Batman to Superman, the Lone Ranger to Rawhide Kid, they all played some role in my over imaginative view as to what a hero was. During the daytime, they filled my hours at play. At night, they entered the subconsciousness of my dreams. They did not shape who I was or what I became. They were only there for entertainment purposes and that was the way I treated them. Of course, as I got older, sports became more prevalent in my life. And, so too, was my understanding of what a hero was. There was a new cast of characters for me to choose from. My seasons weren't the usual Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter. They were baseball, football or hockey and my heroes changed depending on what uniform I was wearing. But they too, for the most part, were only there for entertainment value.

Then, I started to grow up. Like many people out there, I entered the beginning of adulthood totally unprepared and unaware of what was waiting for me. I began to see things differently but was only able to base my observations on my own history, my own upbringing. My ideas of what a hero was began to change. But the transformation didn't happen over night. There was still much more growing up to do. But the seed was planted, I just hadn't fertilized it yet. I started to see more of these heroes as the years went by. But what I was seeing started an internal conflict in my brain and heart that would last many years. My emotions were in a state of chaos and I no longer understood what was going on anymore. I became hurt and angry and I wanted answers. The million dollar question was, would I ever get the answers to those questions?

What I discovered to be real life hero's did not wear costumes or a uniform. They did not score goals or touchdowns or hit homeruns. And they did not have superhuman strength, (but you would think they did). What they did have was love and patience and understanding and a willingness to hold on to there own flesh and blood at any and all costs. No matter what the consequences. It wasn't until I came to this conclusion that I recognized the first time I met one of these heroes. And that was the mother of one of my childhood friends. She was as small and tenacious as a Chihuahua. Come to think of it, she was just as yappy too! But she was protective of her kids without being smothering and letting them grow into their own.

From that point forward, I saw these kinds of heroes everywhere. I once worked with a waitress who had two sons and I remember the first time I met these two young guys, how well mannered and well groomed they were. I was impressed. Over the years I have met many such women. Not all of there stories were without some kind of hardship but they persevered. They stuck together, they survived and they remained intact. They did not know that I considered them heroes, but at the time I was only discovering that for myself. And this was where the hurt and the anger began to unravel deep from within. Then the first question came out. Why? Why not us?

You see, my older sister, my younger brother and myself were placed in the custody of the Catholic Family Services in Montréal. We were ultimately placed in the first of several foster homes. I was only three years old at the time and too young to understand what was going on. We were told things. Optimistic things. That it was only temporary and we believed them. For awhile.

(to be continued)