My heroes are not famous but should be. First on my list, my Mom, who cooked, cleaned, clothed, drove, kissed, cried, laughed and loved nine kids, day after day, year after year. Five girls. Four boys. We were loud, crazy and ate our way through every last dollar. To this day, I'm surprised she never packed her bags and left the country. She taught us many things but what stands out most was her kindness and sensitiviy. A hero is forged in the heart.
My hereos are not perfect. As a matter of fact, I prefer them flawed. The ones in my life don't put themselves above others. They have an unflappable spirit of good will, wanting the best for family, friends and strangers. They have discovered the world flowers for them when they water another garden with a generous spirit. Everyone is worthy.
My heroes are found in everyday places. The check out lady at Wal-Mart who laughs and grins and says, "Girl, how you been?" And she really wants to know. We chat and she says she's so blessed even though I know her feet sometimes swell from standing behind the counter all day, and she usually gets little sleep. Her name is Grace, and she shines up a rusty world one smile at a time.
Our charming goofy girls are my heroes. They do impressions around the dinner table and slink away at the tinkle of dirty dishes, but are growing into compassionate women who will change the world one kindness at a time.
There are too many friends to mention, but yes, each one is a hero to me. The one who called to check on me every day when she knew I was going through a hard time. Another who surprised and delighted me with an oil painting of my book cover for my birthday. Those who collected money and paid for my ticket home when my Mom passed away. They wanted to do something and this was their way. They know who they are.
My heroes are famous to me.