I Believe

I believe in heroes. And not the comic book, super hero, overrated kind. I don’t believe in heroes names Superman or Spiderman. I believe in the heroes who slip quietly behind the shadows doing the right thing because that’s what’s in their hearts. The kind of heroes who don’t do it for their face on the front of the New York Times. I believe in the heroes who believe in random acts of kindness. I believe in everyday people who never expected to be called a hero.
I was eleven years old on September 11, 2001. I was an eleven year old who couldn’t tell you what a hero truly was. I didn’t believe in heroes then; I had no need to. But as I saw watching TV that night, along with almost every American in the country, I remember seeing endless videos of fearless firefighters, cops, civilians, running into burning building to save people they didn’t know and never would. I knew then what a hero really was. These people weren’t thinking about getting their name in the paper or about their five minutes of fame. They were thinking about finding the courage to carry the next nameless victim to safety. I believe in the heroes who perished in the World Trade Centers, giving their lives trying to save others. In the heroes who will forever be remembered and honored. These men and women were and always will be heroes.
Perhaps the most controversial belief in heroes is the belief in the ones overseas. Whether or not I support the war and President Bush is not the issue. That doesn’t change the fact that there are men and women overseas fighting and dying for freedom. I believe in the heroes who have left behind newborn babies, sick mothers, and new spouses. I remember hearing about a 19-year-old who got killed by a roadside bomb. He was 19, barely old enough to vote. I believe in the heroes who sometimes come home from war a shadow of the person they were when they left, but somehow they always carry on. I believe in the heroes who too often go unnamed, overshadowed by Britney Spear’s latest breakdown. I believe in the heroes who are somebody’s brother, sister, mother, father, son, daughter. I believe in the heroes who rarely get the respectful tribute they deserve.
I believe in the heroes who drive their kids to school in minivans. The kind of heroes who are just another face on a crowded street. I remember one time a few years ago my mom and I were come home from grocery shopping. We were coming up to a stoplight when we saw a grungy looking man standing there with a sign written in sloppy handwriting that read, “homeless: any money will help”. My mom silently reached for her wallet, pulled out a twenty-dollar bill, and placed it in the coffee can clanging with coins. The man quietly, humbly mumbled, “thank you, ma’am,” and my mom drove off. I’m sure to that man my mom was a hero, as was every person who anonymously dropped even a quarter into that can.
None of these people: civilians, cope, firefighters, were looking for recognition when they did the things that did. They were simply people who believed in random acts of kindness. And I believe in those heroes.