Dysfunctional family.
Dane, the “in the closet” younger brother.
Jeff, the “get the heck away from me Dane” older brother.
Ben, the “seemingly normal” middle child.
Lucky, the “mentally ‘challenged’ pet dog.”
Sapphire, the “nothing is wrong with my family” mother.
My English teacher recently asked me to write an essay about what I think a hero is. Below is the completed assignment expressing my personal definition. The experiences and thoughts expressed here are quite personal. Feel free to leave your comments but please keep them positive. Remember, there are always two sides to a coin. Your opinion may be different then mine.
My Hero, My Mother
Everyone in the world has a different opinion about what a hero is. They come in many shapes, sizes, have different characteristics, values, and beliefs. For me, a hero is someone who is willing to put a hundred percent effort into protecting you from pain. They will stop at nothing to provide you with the security of safety; and will share with you the knowledge required for survival. A hero doesn’t have to have impeccable character, high importance in society, or have a classic sandwich named after them in the local pub. A hero just needs to be someone who cares for your happiness and loves you for being yourself. My mother is my hero.
I was about ten years old when I first realized how much of a hero my mother was. I began to understand that the consequences and discipline inflicted on me was not in hatred, but to teach me a simple lesson about life skills. I recall a time back when I was around five or six where I threw an enormous tantrum about eating my vegetables. Being the hero that my mother is, she made me eat every last carrot, pea, and broccoli there was on my plate. At the time I thought that she was just a cruel parent forcing her kids to eat something utterly repulsive. In reality she taught me so many things about life from that single instance: how to have self control, how to keep a healthy diet, and most importantly how to sneak vegetables into my napkin under the table. Till this day mother’s heroic lesson about life skills is continually exhibited in my teenage career. It is because of my mother’s lesson that I try to discipline myself to do things that I would otherwise procrastinate from. Like the undesirable task of eating vegetables; doing my homework and chores before enjoying going out with friends is only second nature.
As my hero my mother has gone out of her way to make sure my happiness is always fulfilled. During my childhood my favorite holiday was Christmas. Like every child, I used to wake up extra early on Christmas morning just to see what Santa had left under the tree. There was never a time where I had woken up to disappointing present-less stocking or missing poorly wrapped package with the scribbled “love Santa” embroidered on the side. She had really made me feel that this magical being was coming every year to drop off that present under the Christmas tree. What really made my mother an outstanding hero is that Santa’s present was always ten times better than her own. She’d even act surprised when I beamed a huge smile after unwrapping the present to find just what I wanted. My mother is a hero in the sense that she didn’t hesitate to make me happy. She didn’t ask for anything in return for my glowing Christmas smile, or even dare to take credit for Santa’s doing. The satisfaction upon my face was all that was necessary to suffice my mother’s actions.
When I was about ten years old my mother had gotten me and my brother scooters. A short time after I had fallen off while neglecting my mother’s caution to ride slowly. This minor accident felt like my legs had suffered from a miniature explosion and my arms were badly severed. My mother knew that it was only a small cut and bruise and it would only take days for it to heal. However I insisted that I had broken my wrists and that we needed to go to the hospital immediately. Without a single hesitation she led me into the car and drove straight to the hospital. After spending countless hours in a seemingly endless process of sitting and waiting, the doctor released me with only a few bandages. My heroic mother couldn’t protect me from the pain of getting hurt but she made sure that she did every possible thing to negate the effects. As my hero she comforted me when I was in pain, and when I needed her most. She was able to provide me with a sense of security giving me the confidence that everything would be alright.
My mother is a hero not because of what she offers to the world, but what she offers to me. She makes me feel like I am the most important person in the world. I know that she would drop anything in the world if it meant protecting me from being hurt. My mother has given me the knowledge required to be a successful productive member of society. She has taught me to love the skin that I’m in, and never to be afraid of expressing my personality. My mother is my hero, even without her own personal sandwich.
Jesse Talks 