“I thought heroes were supposed to be dead?” a quote I remembered saying to my grade three teacher back at my elementary days. The memory was stuck in my head as she told us that firemen, policemen, teachers and the others were our present heroes and I was there to defile that theory. Stubbornness was a word I could define myself back then, I explained that they never did anything to save our country; they were just doing their job. Stubbornness. The debate went hazy as I remembered but it was certain that my teacher won, she’s somewhere around thirty and I’m eight and the odds were clearly not in my favor.
Dead or alive, personal or national, we have our heroes. So why will our parents be placed together with other candidates to the prestigious hall of heroes? The most cliché answer especially for a lazy college student like me will get to you in a bit but for the mean time, I did have a hero who saved my life. I was seven year old and I remembered because my mom sold her ring just to get me a two tier cake which I hated. The action figures in it were highly unrealistic and it was baby blue in color; dark blue would’ve been awesome. I felt sad that day. That same year, it was December and we went back to our province. Swimming on a pool was on the list next to swimming at the beach, and as the stubborn child that I was, I went swimming with the big guys. After a quick dive in the five feet pool, the air started to cease from my lungs as I struggled to breath. Water. Water was everywhere, in my mouth and in my nose, it was the longest eight seconds of my life and I swear nobody noticed that I was drowning until a hand shot through the water and grabbed me, I never did forget that moment, it literally never left. Like an annoying flu who returns every now and then, the picture played through my head every once in a while, not as quite as annoying though. The hand was a permanent memory but the face and the name was long lost in the millions files stored in my brain.
Now why my parents, why not that guy with the hand to whom I owe my life, well for starters my mom carried me in her womb for nine months, I carried seven books for a few months back when I was at high school and I complained a lot, but a baby, that’s a whole other story which I’m glad I don’t have to go through. After I was born, they thought me how to live a life, how to eat, walk, talk, dress, read, and pray. They thought me a lot, a lot than any other teacher or professor who had inspire me throughout the years. Parents were our teachers, our first love, our shoulder to cry on and I’m ashamed to say this but it’s true, they were our early saving account. But there was more than that, although they didn’t die for my country, they did one thing, a big thing. They sacrificed their time, effort, money and energy just to save their children from dying in a world like earth; we’re dead meat once we’re alone. So even though that man with the hand saved my life, my parents gave me the promise of a brighter future, with no drugs or crime, just a flourishing life, with the blessing of God. They gave me so much more than a life, they gave me principles to live by so I become a better person, a gift to the world as you may. Why trouble for giving a better future for the children if there wouldn’t be better children to give the future.
So that’s my story, my parents gave me a home, love and they introduced me to God and now I owe them my life, not just my life, I owe them more than that. If I’ll ever be a father one day, I hope I’ll do the same, to give my all in raising a child because they deserve to have a bright future and make their parents proud like the goal I have in mind.
A/N: This is an essay I wrote about for one of my class, asking me who are my personal heroes. Hope you liked it.
