Thread: The Hero Becomes Me

The Making Of A Hero A Hero just doesn't decide one day he wants to go out and protect those that need it. I will not deny there are good people in this world, but heroes a created from opportunity and tragedy. They are raised into the people we see in the media, the firemen that saves lives at the risk of their own, the strangers that protect the week, the masked men that save the day, all these people find their motivation somewhere, a greater feel of justice, a great tragedy that spurrs them forwards... As a Hero I am driven by my own complexities to protect those I care about, and given opportunity to save any life that I find in peril. Today I felt like writing, but no topics would come into my mind save for this...So before I get into my own motivation as a Hero I'd like to outline a few of my exploits, they are few and far between but they make me proud. In my first entry here I detailed how I got my nickname. That was the first time I acted as the Hero of this story, but it was not the last. I've been known to do a number of things like an every day Hero, I'm always there for my friends, I listen and provide aid when necessary, I give money when my friends need it and I offers hugs constantly. But those aren't usually worth detailing aside from mentioning them as I just did. My one of my more recent exploits involved a stranger. I was driving myself to dinner to meet with my mom. I was starting to turn from the back roads to the main streets when I saw an older gentleman across the street riding his bicycle. Nothing out of the ordinary till the fellow collapsed onto the side walk. My eyes widened and heart stood still for a moment. Worry began to creep up my spine as I witnessed this. No cars were stopping, no people were walking by. In the middle of the road in a moment of panic I parked my car as close to the curb as I could and hopped out in traffic, I slid over the trunk of my thunder bird and ran as fast as I could over to him. When I arrived he was gasping for air and clutching his left arm. I watched enough television and movies to recognize something bad and I dialed 911 from my cell phone. I wasn't trained to really help him so I did my best to keep him calm. I made bad jokes and told him he'd be ok. The ambulance took a few minutes to arrive despite there being an emergency center not even a mile away from where he collapsed. The EMS made the scene and carted him off stating he was suffering from a heart attack. That day I saved a man's life just by being there for him and taking time out of my day. I've always been over protective of my friends and sister. She may be older than me but I am much larger and thus feel the big brother effects. When she broke up with a soldier and he started stalking her I took it upon myself to end this. He camped in his car outside of our house one night...She was terrified and crying half the time, and eventually I went out to the garage and grabbed a shovel, I ignored the bats. I took my shovel and marched out to his car, he was texting someone and didn't see me coming when I took the shovel and tapped the driver's side window. He's a large guy, but when he turned his head and I rear my arms back and thrust foreward spearing the tip of the shovel through his window and lodged it within the glass I could see his eyes widen. When I drew back for another strike he drove off as fast as he could, and sent me a bill for the damages before my sister took him to court for stalking charges. He hasn't come around since. And with that said I think it's time I went into the real topic of this journal why I feel compelled to defend. I didn't stem my drive from a need to fight for the greater good, I developed it through complexes and tragedy. At a young age I was present during the not only molestation but rape of my older sister. She was just hitting puberty and we were visiting friends of our parents and they had kids just a little older than us, two boys. They were both poorly behaving and disgusting scum...but I was young and didn't know what was happening, it scared my sister to this day despite therapy and any help my parents tried to give her. Because I was there my father blamed me for what happened and until I got older I never knew why he hated me, but I understand entirely now. I failed as a brother and protector...But that won't happen again. Never again will I let someone I care for be hurt by the viciousness of others, never again will I stand idley by when I could save someone that needs me. I wear many masks but the only one that matters is the face I put on when I do what must be done. It's this reason I have a distrust of people, I see wickedness and I see sadness. And I'll always feel like it's my duty to strive against the cruelty of the world, if not to actively helping people then to be a beacon of hope for those that know me or see me. A mask is what we put on to hide ourselves, mine is what I put on to let myself shine.