Heroes are different things to different people. September 11 is a day that
will always be remembered as a day of heroes. This year was the first of what I
hope will always be a day of remembering heroes and not of reliving tragedy. But this year was also meaningful, and ironic, to me for another reason. I never heard the news until yesterday and had no time to write this until now, though its been on my mind since I heard...it is less a tribute to the man than a reflection on my thoughts of what makes a particular person a hero to us.
Consider it a 'Mary Sue' if you like, because in this one the professor is
seeing things through the eyes of a young me back in the 1960s (and we're both
about the same age).
The Girls were all in different moods as school let out. It had been a day of
remembrance everywhere around Townsville and Pokey Oaks Kindergarten was no
exception. A brief, quiet ceremony outside next to the flagpole, where Old Glory
hung at half-mast for the entire day, and then Ms. Keane had told the kids that
it would be business as usual. In that way, she said, a message was sent to
terrorists that you may destroy people and buildings but you can't destroy
Freedom.
Buttercup was more active than usual, fidgeting in her seat and even more
aggressive on the playground at recess. She was burning off her residual anger
that came boiling up from inside at remembering the events of a year earlier.
Now, as class was excused, she subconsciously was looking for a way to get rid
of the rest with a good, hard game of football. The season for it was here and
she was geared up for it. But she found no takers. Most of the parents had, in
the sense of heightened security that permeated the air, come to pick their
children up. Upon arriving home with her sisters and going to their room, she
decided to watch some of her collection of tapes of classic football games. It
would have to do for now to satisfy her craving for action.
Blossom never understood what Buttercup got out of watching those old films,
some of which were ancient, grainy, black and white things, except possibly the
fun of seeing large bodies slamming together. She was in a reflective mood and
got one of her books on American Presidents, a great many who had been true
heroes before their political careers began, and took it to their desk. She
hoped she wouldn't be distracted by Buttercup's viewing on their small combo
TV/VCR, and as soon as the deep, droning baritone of the video's narrator filled
the room, she knew it would just become background noise. The guy sounded so
serious and spoke reverently about what to her was just guys who once played a
silly game. She quickly became lost in her book...as soon as the argument was
settled.
Bubbles was her usual happy self until her green-eyed sister commandeered the
TV. She wanted to watch her favorite afternoon show before it was time to go
downstairs and help set the table for supper. The thing was, Blossom pointed out
to her, that she had several favorite shows, so it was no big deal. She got her
sisters to agree to 30 minutes of tape-watching for Buttercup, and an equal
amount of time for Bubbles. That done, she sat back, smugly proud of her
mediation skills, and read her book.
Fifteen minutes in, though, Buttercup broke her concentration with shouts of
"Yes! Go! Go! Go!". She looked up to see some guy running to a touchdown. Big
deal.
"Buttercup, how can you get so excited about a game that was played a million
years ago and you already know the score of? What's exciting about that?"
Buttercup's face never moved away from the screen as she answered. "Ah, you
don't know nuthin'. That was Gale Sayers! Nobody ran as fast as he did! Even I
woulda had a tough time catchin' 'im! This is the game where he scored SIX
TOUCHDOWNS!!"
Sure enough, there was the same guy running for another score, going the
opposite way this time; with the narrator intoning about the exploits of a guy
she'd never heard of. She shook her head. What were football players next to
Presidents and great military leaders and the great philosophers? Even the
important scientists and inventors, like the professor, who was HER hero. Her
thoughts were interrupted when her sister yelled, "Touchdown, Baltimore! The
Colts win!", and she looked up. It was two different teams now, from an even older
game, and she saw a mob of people running onto the field, then a cut to a grainy
black and white face shot of a young man. He had a crew cut and a mischievous
grin, and though obviously tired, he was obviously happy.
"Big deal." she thought again. She noted that Bubbles didn't seem to mind
at all, just sitting there watching quietly, even smiling slightly, absorbing
some of Buttercup's joy. But it was enough for her, and she got up to head
downstairs. Maybe she'd see if she could help with supper, if the professor was
even working on it yet. Maybe he'd take them out!
As soon as she opened the door, she knew they wouldn't be going out. She
smelled macaroni and cheese coming from the kitchen. No problem. As she left,
she noted the time on their bedside clock and said to Buttercup, 'Fifteen
minutes, and it's Bubbles' turn, and I don't wanna have to come up here!"
"Yeahyeahsuresure." The green eyes never left the TV. She jumped suddenly,
causing Bubbles to jump and Blossom to flinch, and she threw her shoulders to
one side in imitation of the tremendous hit she'd just seen. "Oh, man, whatta
hit! THAT QB ain't gettin' up right away!"
Blossom heard the 'crunch' from where she stood. Buttercup turned to her and
said, "Betcha didn't know Deacon Jones came up with the name 'sack'!"
"Who cares?" Blossom thought, shook her head one more time, and headed
down the stairs.
She was surprised to find the professor, not in the kitchen, or even in the
lab, but sitting quietly on the couch in the living room with the TV remote
control in his hand. The set was turned off, and he had a reflective expression
on his face, as though his mind were somewhere else. He didn't respond until her
third attempt.
"Thinking about today?" she asked.
"Yes, Blossom. I hadn't given it a LOT of thought, actually. We've lived with
it for a whole year now, and we knew this first anniversary was going to come. I
was kinda prepared for it, but..."
"But what, Professor?"
"Well, it's sad, and also kind of ironic that it happened today."
"What happened?" she wondered to herself and feared something terrorism
related, maybe in another part of the world. But the TV would be on if it was
something big. No, it had to be something personal to him. So she asked.
He indicated in the direction of the set with a small wave of his hand, then
set the remote down. "Today was a day for remembering heroes, Blossom, and
that's a good thing. But I just found out a short while ago that one of MY
heroes died today."
She sat instantly on the couch next to him and looked up with big, worried
eyes. He seemed sad, but quiet-sad and not in-mourning-sad.
"Who was it, Professor? A world leader? A scientist? One of your old
teachers?"
He smiled, thankful for her concern. "You probably never heard of him, honey.
No, he wasn't any of those. But he was a hero to me when I was a boy. Funny, I
haven't even thought about him in years. That happens to your childhood heroes
after they leave the limelight."
"Gee, will that happen to US? Will people forget about us, too?"
He gave her a reassuring smile. "Well, Blossom, we're talking about different
kinds of heroes, here. You three aren't likely to be forgotten any time soon, so
don't worry about that!"
She breathed a sigh of relief. He went on, a bit more seriously. "But yes,
there will come a time when the cheering for you will stop and you girls will be
remembered only in history books and on TV and video. You can't worry about
that, though, because it happens to everyone who is famous at one time or
another. You just have to live your lives fully every day, just like this man
did after the cheering stopped. It's been more than forty years since the event
that he's most remembered for, and his career lasted for years after that, so
don't go thinking that you guys'll be washed up any time soon, OK?"
"OK. Professor, was he a superhero like us? You said people used to cheer for
him."
"Well, not 'super' in the sense that you three are. But he WAS a hero to a
lot of people."
"Why was he YOUR hero, Professor?"
"Hmmm. Well, Blossom, when I was young, I wasn't interested very much in
science until, well, you know THAT story!"
They exchanged grins. "Sure do!"
"But I WAS interested in other things, and one of them was what this guy did
for a living. He was one of the best ever at what he did."
"What did he do that was so great, if he wasn't a great world leader or a
scientist or a doctor or a teacher or somebody else who did things to help
people? Was he a police officer or a fireman?"
"No, Blossom, he wasn't any of those, either. But there are all kinds of
heroes. The funny thing is, there are many people who are thinking like you are,
that you have to be in one of those professions to be a hero. The fact is,
heroism takes many forms. There's the type you mentioned that society absolutely
needs, and there's superheroes like you, who we'd be in a whole lot of trouble
without. But there's another kind, too. They have this larger-than-life mystique
about them and, even if what they do may not seem to be too important in the
grand scheme of things, they are seen as heroes by those same doctors and
teachers and policemen and firemen, and by people from all walks of life who
look up to these men whose exploits are such a big part of their everyday lives.
Presidents invite them to the White House, that's how looked up to they
are."
"Whoa!" Blossom found that extremely impressive, that a President would do
that.
"And, Blossom, I think you would have appreciated this guy if you could have
met him. He WAS a great leader of sorts. Men followed him. He had to battle all
sorts of problems to be the best in his field, and he wasn't always liked by
everybody. Lots of people didn't like him at all when he was his most
famous."
"That doesn't make any sense."
"Well, it does, in a way. In fact, Blossom, many of those gallant policemen
and firefighters who sacrificed their lives a year ago probably were among the
ones who couldn't stand him once. He was an enemy of sorts to them, and those
New Yorkers took great pride that one of THEIR greatest heroes gave this man his
worst defeat ever. But that was only in the heat of battle, and he is being
remembered today as a hero, by friends and former enemies alike."
"Gee. I guess you can't ask for anything more than that, huh? To have even
your enemies respect you. And he was YOUR hero, too."
"Yeah, for a while. Like I said, I hadn't even thought about him in years.
But in the day, me and my friends, we wanted to be just like him some day. But
we outgrew that and found other heroes to inspire us. Very few people, Blossom,
ever make it as far as he did and there was NO way I was going to be what HE
was. We don't have heroes to be LIKE those heroes. We have them because they
represent the best of what we can become."
"I understand, Professor." Blossom said solemnly. "I'm sorry he died."
"Me too. But I didn't know him or any of his friends and loved ones, so I'm
sad more for myself than for him. That isn't really right but I think you'll
understand some day. What I feel more than anything is kinda old. I lost a piece
of my youth today."
"What did he do, Professor?"
A loud scream from upstairs broke up the conversation. It was Buttercup,
yelling, "NOOOOO!!"
They both jumped up from the couch and Blossom hovered, a scowl forming on
her face. "They're fighting over the TV, and I told Buttercup she had to give
Bubbles her turn!"
Right on cue, there was Bubbles, flying into the room with an anxious
expression on her face. "Professor! Buttercup-"
"I know, Bubbles." he said, frowning and starting for the stairs. "I'll take
care of it."
"No, Professor!" the little blonde 'Puff protested, flapping her arms. "She
took out the tape and there was this sports channel on TV and Buttercup got all
upset and she's CRYING!"
He and Blossom exchanged a quick worried look, and they all hurried upstairs.
It was amazing, how he could move almost as quickly as the girls when one of
them needed him.
They found Buttercup sitting a few feet from the TV, on the floor, watching a
sportscaster. In her arms was her football, which she squeezed tightly. A few
large tears ran down one cheek of her forlorn face.
Blossom saw footage of old football games and heard the man saying things
about someone, something about the records and the three championships and the
greatest game ever played and the importance of it to the National Football
League and it was all because of the guy being talked about, a name she didn't
recognize. Buttercup obviously did.
The professor knelt down next to his saddened little girl. "What's the
matter, honey?"
She looked up at him. She wanted to be brave and not cry, so she squeezed the
ball even tighter in one arm and wiped the tears away with her other hand.
"Johnny Unitas died."
Just then, that exact name was mentioned by the sportscaster and Blossom saw
the exact same young man with the crew-cut hair that she had seen not a
half-hour before on her sister's tape. The boyish grin stared out, permanently
fixed in time as the announcer's words sounded over the picture, which was
framed in black and faded to black and a commercial.
"Johnny Unitas, dead today at 69."
Blossom pointed at the screen. "Hey, that's the same guy..."
Buttercup jumped up and away from the professor, angrily pumping the ball
back in her right hand, ready to throw it; ironically, in the same pose as she'd
seen on her tapes. "It stinks!"
She lowered her arm and turned, letting the ball fall to the floor and
looking up at him sadly. "Why do heroes hafta die?"
He knelt beside her again. Bubbles, as sensitive as she was, took on the mood
around her and felt sad for her sister. She moved closer to them. He touched
Buttercup's hair softly and said, "Buttercup, heroes are just people like the
rest of us, and-"
Blossom interrupted, finding her sister's reaction to this man's death a bit
over the top. "Buttercup, he was just some old football player, not a HERO! You
should be sad for the professor, 'cause one of HIS heroes, a REAL hero, died
today too. Tell her, Professor!"
He stood up and gave Blossom a wry smile, then looked at the other two girls. "Who, Professor?" Buttercup asked, feeling a little silly,
now.
"Well, girls," he began. "By a strange coincidence, his name was also Johnny
Unitas and he also played football."
Their eyes grew as big as saucers, but none as big as Blossom's. She tried to
speak but no words came out and finally, her face fell along with her slumped
shoulders. She felt two inches tall.
"I'm sorry, Buttercup." She looked up. "I'm sorry, Professor!"
He got all the girls to sit down on their bed before he took a chair and
pulled it up to sit and talk.
"You see, Blossom, heroes take many forms. To you, an athlete isn't very
important, but to many people, especially kids, they CAN be, if they represent
what's good and SHOULD be admired. Things like hard work and overcoming
obstacles and not quitting, even when things are going against you. You guys
already know something about that."
"Yeah, Professor!" Buttercup agreed, more animated, now. "Blossom, did you
know that he finished a game with a couple broken ribs and a collapsed LUNG?!
Now, THAT'S cool!"
It didn't sound very cool to her, but she had to admit it DID sound heroic,
if not a little dumb. But then, she had just learned, he had teammates who
counted on him, being the leader and all.
"I think I get what you mean by him having enemies, Professor. The fans that
like the teams he beat."
"Yes, Blossom. Like the ones in New York I told you about. He broke their
hearts in 1958 but they got their revenge when THEIR biggest hero beat him in
1969."
"Yeah! Joe Namath!" Buttercup exclaimed. "He was cool, too!"
"Hey, I heard of him!" Bubbles said brightly. "He's that old guy that does
the commercials for the stuff you put on sore joints and stuff!"
"Ouch!" the professor thought. Today sure wasn't making him feel any
younger. "Yes, Bubbles, that guy. They might not have been the type of heroes
that affect people's lives the way we normally think of heroes, but they help
make our lives more enjoyable and at the same time, teach us things about the
importance of being our best. And the people we think of as TRUE heroes DO look
up to them."
Blossom said, "I understand now, Professor."
He stood up, remembering the casserole in the oven that would be burnt soon
if it wasn't already. "Good, honey. Now, before we head downstairs to get supper on, there's just one more thing I want to say. We can and should feel sad when we lose one of our heroes. For their friends and family and for ourselves, too. But it helps us to feel less sad if we remember that they are now in a place where they can play as much as they want, nobody ever loses and the cheering NEVER stops."
The girls understood the point he was making and smiled. He told Blossom and Bubbles to go ahead downstairs to set the table. He sensed Buttercup needed a little something more. She knew he wanted to tell her something privately and she looked up at him expectantly.
He picked up Buttercup's football and tossed it in the air, catching it as it fell. "After supper, how'd you like to toss the old pigskin around?"
That surprised her. He always left them to play by themselves. She understood, because he was busy and they did have more energy than he could handle. "But Professor, aren't you a little old- oops! Sorry!"
"That's OK, honey, I am a little old...but you're never too old for anything. I was never any Raymond Berry but there's still a few moves left in your old man." She grinned at the mention of the great Johnny U's favorite target. He mussed her hair and handed her ball to her. "Now, let's go eat."
Special moments in a relationship between parent and child often happen with neither being truly aware of it. As they left the room together, Buttercup smiled at her hero and said simply, "Thanks, Dad."
End