You asked me to write about a hero?

When I think of the word hero, I think of how generic that is nowadays. I think of the lack of real people that I hear of being called hero, and how many other people truly deserve that title.

Hero? I do think of my dad, when I think of the word hero. I think of the years that he put food on my table, and clothes on my back. I think of the support that he has given me all through the years. I think about my mom and all the mornings that she got up to cook me breakfast without ever being thanked or even asked to. I think about my grandpa and how many nights he spent in a tent in Germany fighting in a war that I didn't thank him for. But what about everyone else? What about everyone else's mom and dad? Whatever happened to real meaning of a hero.

A hero should be every man that wakes up early in the morning to earn an honest day's wage. He's that butcher who lives on the corner in an Irish neighborhood, and gives old lady O'Connell a free roast because she's a little short this week. He's that man who works in the ship yard, and fixes the hulls of boats that he will never ride. A hero is a man who wakes up at 5 in the morning to go to a factory, to build automobiles he can never afford. He's that man who puts on a bulletproof vest and straps on a gun to protect our streets. He stands tall on the fact that his happiness comes from seeing his family grow. He stands on his ability to do his job properly, whatever it is. This hero has the audaciousness to get up every morning and go to a job that he is not appreciated for. Sure there are retirement parties, and Labor Day...but truly what thanks does he get for his deeds?

Women are heroes too. Women do a lot of things, that men can't. Women do a lot of things that men wouldn't do if they could. Women bear our children. They rear them in the best way that they know how. She comes home from work, and begins a second job. She cooks supper for her family, and doesn't complain at all. She starts a load of clothes at the same time she puts the roast in the oven. Her husband comes home and unstraps his gun. He changes out of his uniform, and the look of hurt is in his eyes. She listens as he tells her of the terrible things that he has seen that day. She tears up, but remains strong...like a rock...for her husband to vent on. She finishes the laundry, loads the dishes in the dishwasher, and puts her kids to bed. She lays down in the bed with her husband, who has helped around the kitchen that night. He's fast asleep, and she follows quickly behind, only to realize that she has to wake up and do it all again tomorrow.

These men and women are working class heroes. There are more like them. They are shadows. They live behind and in the world. They may not stand out, or even have their names in lights but they are heroes. I don't know their names. I don't know where they live. All I know is that when they strap their shoes on, just like me, they go out into a world who doesn't appreciate the job that they do. They build our buildings, birth our children, run our stores, protect our streets, cooks our meals, wipes our asses when we're babies, and a million other things but we don't think of them when we think of a hero. I did get the idea for this essay by a Beatle's song; but I will admit that but my purpose is genuine. "A working class hero 'is' something to be." Its something to be proud of. This working class is the definition of a hero: "a man (or woman) of distinguished courage or ability, admired for his (or her) brave deeds and noble qualities".