My Father, A True Hero
He left home as a young man, drafted into the Army to serve his country in World War II. In the deserts of northern Africa, he received a head wound in battle. As a cook and tank driver he spent years in horrific situations that he never breathed a word of when he returned home. But these were not the things that made Clarence H.a hero.
He was my father. When he could not have children of his own, he adopted not one, but three babies who were without families. My brother, sister and I were the apples of his eye. From the start, we were his children even though he did us the honor of allowing us to know that we were adopted. He would never have made us suffer through the shock of learning through accident the true nature of our births. It never mattered that we weren't blood relation. It was never hidden, but many people didn't know and would never have guessed. I cherished the times that I was told from strangers that I looked like my father.
His work as a truck driver to support his family took him away from home for days at a time. His sleep was scarce and unpredictable. He would often return home to sleep and leave again. But he didn't want to waste this precious time with his family and so he slept on the floor of the family room surrounded by his children. Many times I would curl up next to him, rest my head on his arm and nap along with him on the floor in a pool of sun. It drove my mother crazy, but it is one of my most treasured memories.
Even with all the long hours on the road, my father never failed to support his children in their ventures. My father was in the stands cheering my brother on to victory every Friday night when he played high school basketball. He attended my sister's art shows and her plays. He watched her as she ran track and cheered her on as strongly as my brother. It meant the world to me to have my father in the audience for my band and choir performances and opening night for each of my plays. He never missed one. So many parents make excuses that they are too busy to make it to one of their child's activities. My father's job should have kept him away, but it never did. He understood clearly his priorities in life and we, his children, reaped the benefits of it.
Many people would say that my father was a hero because he fought in the war. I suppose that this is true, but my father will always be a hero to me simply because he was my father. His simple everyday acts of showing that being my father was important to him held him above any act of combat. His face in the audience was more important than any medal. He valued his family and put them above all else. These are the things that made Clarence H. a true hero.
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