Heroes Journey
Nine true stories of ordinary courage that forever changed how I see heroism.
What are heroes made of?
Not super-human strength or speed. Not flaming wings, capes, a mask, or an invisible plane. Not origin stories with radioactive spiders, an alien heritage, or magical weapons.
No.
Heroes are made of calloused hands and tired eyes, of patience stretched thin but never broken, of hearts full of pain that still choose kindness.
Heroes are made of courage that trembles but chooses to stand firm.
Heroes are everyday people who choose compassion when the world offers none, bravery when their instincts tell them to run.
Heroes choose hard. And that choice makes all the difference.
Like my friend Ashley says,
“It ain’t brave, if you aren’t scared.”
The following [50] word stories are all real: ordinary people living extraordinary lives in a world of brutal realities.
Parole Hearing
Shark circle. My cellie's blood splatters the concrete.
Not all beatings are executions. Some are ritual. Others, "demonstrations."
I'd survived worse.
I can walk away. Or, step in. Be brave. Stupid. Next.
A guard watches. Expressionless. Our eyes meet.
My future balanced on a breath. I close my eyes.
Choose.
[50]
Shadow Boxer
Ten years clean today.
No one left to call.
She buys herself a cupcake. Rummages for a candle.
The flame flickers against the leaning tower of college textbooks beside her mattress on the floor.
The shadows dance.
Tomorrow's shift starts soon.
She makes the same wish.
Blows out the light.
[50]
Ledger
Three days till payday. Rent due. Shutoff notices piling up. The baby’s cough screams for antibiotics.
Jesse counts coins from a jar.
“Bus fare, or lunch money. Not both.”
She writes another IOU to herself. Whispers a promise. "Someday. Somehow."
She takes a deep breath. Straightens her uniform.
Keeps going.
[50]
Callous Crossing
His aching hands remember the shape of her face better than his eyes.
Three borders, two years, one promise.
Each night, he whispers, "Ya mero, mi amor. Ya mero."
Soon, my love. Very soon.
Tonight, while gangs roam her village, ICE invades his neighborhood, and her phone goes to voicemail.
[50]
Everything we could?
Hand against the mirror, she meets her own eyes. She doesn't recognize herself.
Twelve hours on her feet. Third shooting victim this week. Her son's birthday dinner, at home, cold in the fridge.
"Time of death: 3:28 AM"
In the consultation room, parents wait.
Deep breath.
Steady voice ready.
[50]
Witness
Mrs. Jenkins from 4B keeps bringing me casseroles.
I didn't know her name before.
She sits with me while I don't eat, talks while I weep, about her husband, gone six years now.
Her hands, veined and steady, pour tea.
"It doesn't get easier," she says, "but you get stronger."
[50]
Guardians
I watch them through the mirror: the quiet ones, the loud ones, the ones who sit alone.
Forty-two children, one hundred twenty-four miles, twenty-seven years behind the wheel.
I know every shortcut, pothole, birthday, and every kid without lunch money in his pocket.
That’s what the snack basket is for.
[50]
Mother’s Day
I brush her hair and add a bow. Pack her favorite snacks. Drive forty minutes.
Her mother doesn't show. Again.
In the rearview mirror, I watch her face crumple, then harden.
"It's okay," she says, suddenly older than eight.
We stop for ice cream.
The angel sleeps.
I bitterly weep.
[50]
No Substitute
She assigned thirty-two essays. Only twenty-three came back.
One kid acts out. Others sleep through class.
She works nights scrubbing toilets and polishing floors.
She buys school supplies with her grocery money: pencils, pens, notebooks, granola bars, EpiPens, Narcan, tourniquets, and a trauma kit.
She's saving for a bulletproof backpack.
[50]
True Heroes
We are all heroes. When we choose to be.
You are a hero in ways you might not even recognize—on those exhausted mornings when you choose to smile anyway, in the moments you offer kindness when you've been given none, in every instance you've stood your ground when it would have been easier to run.
Your heroism might look like giving when you need so much yourself, or listening when someone else needs to be heard, or simply surviving another day when that lone act of rebellion feels impossible.
The world may never know your name or sing songs about your deeds. But somewhere, someone, like me, is grateful that you chose hard when it mattered most.
I love you ❤️
Thanks for being here. You’re my hero.
—Paul
Great pieces. I loved the snack basket for the seeming school bus driver
Herosim really is done on the daily, moment by moment, and you've illustrated that so powerfully many times over here bud. Very well done.
"Heroes are everyday people who choose compassion when the world offers none, bravery when their instincts tell them to run."
Sound like more song lyrics to me ;).