Direction
Mooest
Old Moos
Moo to Me
Go to Diaryland
Sign My Guestbook!
Read My Profile
Rivers Point Webpage
Favorite URLs
Light a candle
<
My Trading Card
Pictures
The Family
More Furfamily pictures
Quizzes
Prince or Princess
Star Wars Test
100 Acre Wood Test
What Element am I
What Mythical Creature am I
Political Affiliation
Peanuts Character
Atlantian Duke
My Words
One Nation. . .
My Best Day
MY Journey
2002 Retrospection
Let There Be Peace
War Pictures
Best Stolen Stuff
Frodo Has Failed
Archived Pages
Entry 501-Present
Entry 401-500
Entry 301-400
Entry 201-300
Entry 101-200
Entry 1-100
Last Five Entries
Veteran's Day and an Etiquette Question
2003-01-30 - 8:41 p.m.
Heroes and Angels
I've been too caught up in my own drama these days to say much about my heroes. My heroes are "normal" people. They are the people I grew up admiring and wanting to be like. Yep, in that group you had your average police officer, doctor, and the more visible professions that require one to be brave and all of those other qualities we normally think a hero should possess.
As I've grown up, of course, that idea has changed. I've written here before that I was raised by an ex-Military father. The men and women who leave their family to make me feel safe and protected are heroes. The firefighters and police officers who give their lives while doing what most people wouldn't dream of doing are heroes. Teachers are heroes.
I was lucky. I had several heroes in my lifetime as of yet, and I can honestly say that none of them earned a million dollar income. Heck, most of them never earned over $50K a year.
Mr. Hall is my hero. He was the old man who lived on the corner of my street when I was a kid. He had a garden plot about the size that'd be just right for a house (it was right next to his). During the summer, you could see him out in his garden, working the soil, singing church hymns. He always waved, and when it was so very hot, he'd call us kids into the shade beside his carport (he had some big cedar chairs there for "visiting"). His wife would give us ice water and kool aid, and he was always there to give a hug or lend an ear to hear a child's problem. You could always count on him for something fresh from the garden. He and his sweet wife made my 'street' a community. Even after we moved away, my family kept in touch. They were the grandparents we never knew (ours lived so far away). I had the bittersweet experience of dropping by for a visit the day his beloved wife died. They were having an old-fashioned death-bed vigil and my friend and I were headed back from the beach and decided to pay them a visit. I wanted my best friend to meet my "grandpa". It had been about a year or so since I'd seen him. I knocked on the door, and I heard his voice. All I had to say was "Mr. Hall, it's me!" He knew instantly who I was. He was calling my name before he ever got to the door. He opened the door and enfolded me into love. I'd forgotten what his hugs were like. Love, in it's purest form. I didn't realize until we'd been ushered out to the back porch for a "sit down" that he was now blind. He told me that his beloved Winnie was on her way to be with God and he was happy I was there to wish her well. I got up to leave, not wanting to intrude, but he wouldn't have it. He grabbed me by the hand and lead me to their bedroom. He opened the door and announced that I was there for a visit. I went over to take her hand, I was at a loss of words. How do you tell someone how much they meant to you as a child when you had no idea you were even coming for a visit. I held it for a few minutes, gave her warm cheek a kiss and quietly tiptoed out of the room. I opened the door and was met by those same loving arms that welcomed me into his home just a few moments before.
He and I talked for a few minutes and he told me that the doctor said she'd probably be gone within a matter of hours. He actually apologized to me for giving me such news to take home to my parents.
She did die that day, and he went to go live with "sister" one of their children.
A few years ago, I was in a mood to do research and found a website that I could find out if he was still alive. I'm sad to say, by then, he wasn't. I found where his death had been recorded.
He is one of my heroes. He taught me what the warmth of love is like. He and his beloved (which is what he called her) had been married for almost seventy years before she went with God.
This is a man who was born before 1900, he had seen it all, and he was more than willing to sit in the shade of his mimosa trees and tell stories of his horse and buggy days to a group of squirmy kids. He once let me interview him for a paper I had to write for school. He'd seen it all, from the horse and buggy days to the man on the moon.
My other hero is my first grade teacher. She's also gone now too, I'm old. She was another hugger. She was there my first day of school back in first grade in Driver, Va. She also came to my high school graduation after we moved to Richmond. She came with a gift and a boyfriend... and she had a secret... she was a smoker! She was african american and was a bit apprehensive about driving all the way to "the city" to see someone graduate. She said I was the first and only student to ever invite her. She asked my mother if I would be upset if she smoked. My mother laughed quietly and said that I was so happy to see her, I wouldn't care if she smoked a tree trunk!
She is the woman who made me want to learn, to do more, to not be afraid to try something new. She was always there with a lap and with a rainy day activity. She tried to teach me patience, bless her heart (somethings you just can't teach in nine months); but most of all, she taught me and the other 30 students about the world of education. We tried her patience on more than one occasion, and I can remember her being exasperated with us all at times, but I could also tell she loved us. From the first grade on until we moved when I was in ninth grade, I'd have my mother take me back to Florence Bowser Primary school to show Mrs. Wiggins my final report cards. She'd always say how smart I was and give me a huge hug. She'd introduce me to her students are her most favorite student, and just gush about me. She made me feel good to be me.
Those are two people who are all about love. They are the type of people I aspire to be. They are heroes. They did what they loved, and gave their love to everyone who crossed their path. From the dirt covered kid who nobody liked, to the bored kid who had nothing to do on a summer day.
They helped shape who I am, and I'm grateful for their attention when I needed it the most.
Perhaps instead of heroes, they were my angels?
Please don't forget to answer my survey... it's research for a small business idea... all comments appreciated, no reasonable offer refused!!! It won't take five minutes, I PROMISE!
