You don’t need to be a hero anymore

You were always my hero. I was a scrawny child. You were raised on a farm and grew up big and strong. I always imagined you were the strongest dad. I was short; I wanted to be tall like you. I needed a hero to look up to.

When I was little, I watched Sheriff John on TV. You were a deputy sheriff. You were a real life Sheriff John. I used to brag to other kids that my dad was a deputy sheriff.

Instead of beating up on the bad guys, you chose to teach schoolchildren how to be safe on their bicycles. Over all those years, you showed a lot of children the side of police work that they maybe never saw elsewhere. I suppose you were a hero to some of them too.

After 15 years of teaching the kids, you decided to be one who took care of deputies who were injured and the families of those who died. Sometimes you had to be the bearer of sad news. I don’t know how you did that. I’m sure there were many grateful families for the help you gave them in their time of need.

I remember one winter day you asked me to go with you to visit a deputy who lived in Wrightwood and was dying of cancer. You said it was not to see the snow, but because you did not want to do it alone. It was difficult work that you did.

Eventually I grew tall – taller than you – but never strong like you. But you and Mom always encouraged me to pursue my strengths.

You were always proud of my accomplishments, even when they fell short of what I would have liked. I was amazed and honored that you even looked to me for advice, when I was still a teen.

When I had grown up, I guess I didn’t think I needed heroes. I was pretty self-sufficient. You had taught me how to fix just about anything. And I had learned much more as well.

After you retired from the Sheriff’s Department, you went back to farming, although of a much different kind. You befriended many in your community (you have always been a much more social person than I am).

But you had great loss when an entire family that you had become close to was killed in a car accident. You became best friends with the husband’s parents. I’m sure you were a great comfort to them after their loss.

It was after Mom began to lose her memory through dementia that I really saw the hero in you. As she declined, you cared for her. You never complained. You said she had given you so many years, and this was the right thing to do. You were her hero, even if she didn’t acknowledge it. You became our hero too, as we saw all the difficulties you withstood.

In the last couple of years, you have had your own difficulties. Your health declined; you were diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease. But I don’t remember you complaining. Even when you have lost all your strength, you don’t complain of pain or things you can’t do.

You have gained new friendships among those who care for you. They have seen you through this most difficult time in your life, and how you have held up through it.

In the Bible it says, “Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old, he will not depart from it.” You have done so for all of us. And you have done well. I don’t think I ever have been or ever will be as good a dad as you are.

You have grandchildren who adore you and great-grandchildren who are just starting out. What you taught us will carry on to them.

You probably don’t think of yourself as a hero now. You don’t need to be a hero anymore; you already are.

I love you Dad.