Pretty much every story has one. Some (like my own) might even have more than one. In some stories (like my own), the hero isn't even the main character or the focus of the story - rather, they are the influential and awe-inspiring rock from which the main protagonist draws his or her strength; the person who occasionally (or in some cases often) swoops in to save the day when things look hopeless and seem to be at their worst; a person whose character, bravery, selflessness and sense of adventure are something for others to aspire to; a champion of virtue and strength - physical or otherwise.
As I've said, the story of my adventure has more than one hero, but for now I will write about the hero in my life: that man is my dad.
Many boys hold such a view of their father, and that makes perfect sense to me. As a child and even to this day, my dad has always been there for me, always ready and willing to do whatever it takes to save my skin and make sure that I want for nothing. He has either protected me or fought alongside me against countless dangers, whether they be physical, emotional or financial. He has taught me so much about life - about enjoying and taking care of nature, about morals and how to treat others, how to build things and how to fix things, how to be a decent, dependable person and a productive participant in this world.
He introduced me to adventure.
My dad and I have been together on many an adventure. We've been to scorching and inhospitable deserts, freezing mountain tops, and alpine forests. We've traveled to about half of the states in the country, as well as Central America. Our adventures range far and near, but it's the memory of those near that have had the greatest impact on my life. The camping trips we've taken are just about the fondest memories that I possess.
The stories told by my father around the campfire are impressive, but the stories told about my father by his buddies around the campfire are nothing short of awe-inspiring. I've been treated to stories about a man who was utterly without fear and seemed to know no physical limitation, who thought nothing at all of swinging a 20lb. sledgehammer with one hand or dead-lifting an engine block with his bare hands to move it around in his garage.
This beast of a man, whose feats are renown to those who know him well, is the same man who picked me up when I fell down. He's the same man who held me in times of sorrow, who dried my tears in times of anguish and counseled me in times of confusion - and would do the same tomorrow, should I need it. These reasons, above all others, are why I still look at him to this day and see a Hercules of indomitable love and protection. It is my hope and prayer that I've inherited at least some of these outstanding qualities, and that I can be the pillar of strength and comfort to my own children that my dad was to me.
This man is my hero.
