Who is your hero?
My future principal sat across the desk from me, pen in hand, a giant 3-ring binder in her lap. She looked at me expectantly, as the tape recorder whirred in between us. I was interviewing for a potential teaching position in her district – ideally, in her school – and my responses were not only being recorded, they were being scored as well. I may have only been in my mid-twenties, but I knew enough to know the kind of answer that would reflect favorably on the scoring rubric.
And yet, my answer was simple: I don’t really have one. I never have. Because no matter how amazing, how incredible, how perfect a person seems, they’re still just a person. They’ll make mistakes. They’ll trip and fall. They’ll disappoint me. So I’ve chosen never to have a so-called “hero”. I know that’s not the answer you’re looking for, and I’ll be scored poorly on this question, but it’s how I feel.
This summer, we’ve had the privilege of visiting several notable national monuments, most recently Pearl Harbor. As we’ve toured these sites, we’ve heard the word “hero” used almost to excess. In fact, wandering around the Pearl Harbor Historic Sites, I began to feel emotionally uneasy – ranging from a vague emptiness inside to downright anger – and I knew it wasn’t from the heat. While I’m still processing, I’ve had some time to reflect on my reaction. And I think it all stems from that simple little four letter word: HERO.
Webster’s defines hero as:
1) a mythological or legendary figure often of divine descent endowed with great strength or ability; an illustrious warrior; a man admired for his achievements and noble qualities; one who shows great courage
2) the principal male character in a literary or dramatic work; the central figure in an event, period, or movement
4) an object of extreme admiration and devotion:idol
For my purposes, definition 3 is only slightly helpful, while 1a and 2a are completely irrelevant. But if I look at the other definitions, I come to the crux of my emotional paradox: was every soldier who died at Pearl Harbor a hero? In our earnestness to honor their tragic deaths, to preserve their memory, and create a lasting legacy, have we diluted its meaning? Worse yet, have we done a disservice to those whose actions that day truly *were* illustrious, noble, courageous…by very definition, HEROIC?
I realize my perspective is shaped from a lifetime lived in relative freedom. I have never had to endure the horror of warfare fought on my homeland. I have never had to say good-bye to a father or brother, husband or son as he volunteered his service – and potentially his very life – for his countrymen, wondering if I would ever see him again. I have not had to deal with the hardships of rations, air raid drills, enforced curfews, blackouts, and the constant fear of wondering if the “bad guys” would find MY hometown, MY neighborhood, MY house that day. I have never suffered the shock and searing grief of watching my comrades – my co-workers, my fellow soldiers, my friends – lose their lives in a single gruesome instant, victims of unprovoked and unparallelled violence. Because of that, it’s easy for me to separate actions from emotions, to designate a hierarchy of heroism. But that’s not really my intention. My intention is not to diminish the contributions of any, but rather to elevate the actions of a few.
Most of my angst stems from the broad use of the word “hero” to all the soldiers aboard the USS Arizona on the morning of December 7, 1941. Were those men truly all heroes? If we’re to believe Hollywood, many on board that ship were dead before they knew what hit them. They were preparing for morning colors, on duty at their respective posts, or sleeping after their nighttime shift. They were dressing, or shaving, or cleaning, or cooking – engaged in ordinary activities on a seemingly ordinary day in what had become to them an ordinary existence. The ship was docked at harbor, during peacetime, with no indication of imminent attack. For many, the military provided what the private sector could not: the chance to see the world, gain a marketable skill, receive medical care, AND draw a paycheck, all while being provided clothes, lodging, and 3 squares a day. This was not a “noble” or “sacrificial” calling for these men. It was an opportunity to have a life. It was survival.
For thousands of soldiers that fateful day, death was immediate. There was no time to respond, react, or even fight back, which causes me to wonder: though their deaths were tragic, were they truly heroic? To be sure, there were heroes among them. Men who courageously fought back using whatever meager resources were available. Men who bravely patrolled the harbor, at great peril to themselves, to rescue survivors caught in the water. Men who nobly sought to free comrades trapped in the wreckage of sinking and capsized ships. Men – and women – who gallantly worked night and day to treat the injured, in conditions rendered grossly inadequate for such massive devastation. Men of all ranks, ages, and ability whose actions that day earned them the highest military commendation: the Congressional Medal of Honor. Men who are worthy of admiration and devotion.
And it is there, in the midst of that graphic paradox, that I struggle. I’m left to wonder, with no easy answers. Yes, the men and women in our armed forces deserve our respect and honor. They should be celebrated for their service, and remembered for their sacrifice. But should we cheapen their memory, dilute their honor, and diminish our respect by labeling them all as heroes? Shouldn’t that honor be reserved for the select few, those who truly rise to the occasion, those who demonstrate by words or actions – or perhaps a bit of both – a level of courage, loyalty, and bravery that sets them apart? Do we bequeath these fresh-faced young men with the prestigious moniker of “hero” simply because they don a military uniform? Or should we measure our words more carefully, making the distinction between “victim” and “victor” a little more obvious?
And, in the wise words of Forrest Gump, “That’s all I have to say about that.”
