Tiny And Big Ways To Be An Almost Hero

Now and again, each of us is a hero. It’s in small, in-the-moment acts, like paying for a person behind us in line. It’s in big more-planned things, like volunteering at places that break our hearts because it’s not fair that privilege and circumstance are the only things that stand between us being the volunteer and being the one who needs to ask for help. It sucks to ask for help as the volunteer, too. There are tiny and big ways to be an almost hero, and asking for help is one of them.

As women, we’re taught to be silent, and good. Boys are called on more often in school. We graduate (if we’re lucky), and take jobs where male bosses make us feel small and afraid. We go to social events, and feel small and afraid.

We remain quiet, good girls, so lucky to have a job. We’re taught that needing help is weak, even though it’s the hardest, most heroic thing we can possibly do.

There Are Heroes

One day, about eight years ago now, two heroes came to my home. I was terrified to let them in. After initial evaluations, the county determined that my not-yet-three-year-old qualified for special education services. Long story short (so much more here about that – if you’re interested in that younger special needs journey, comment and I’ll hook you up with a ton of articles but a quick background one can be found here).

Because of those two heroes, we made it to preschool graduation, and Tucker started talking.

Sometimes, Being A Hero Is Getting Up When It’d Be Okay Not To

A woman I know had a son. While she’ll always have a son, he’s no longer with us. He committed suicide as a teenager. People would’ve understood had she taken to bed and never gotten up. Instead, she travels to high schools and tells her son’s story. She spreads hope and reminds kids that life changes quickly.

Rather than being angry that classmates were cruel to her son, she loves them. “If you’re ever desperate, or alone,” she says, “Call me. No matter what.” That’s being a hero. 

There Are Tiny And Big Ways To Be An Almost Hero

I walked to the bagel shop across from my hotel, passing so many homeless people on my way. I browsed through photos on my phone from last night’s meal. I was freaking out a little about how much I’d spent on this trip. When I got to the bagel place, there was a man, head bent, dirty, a paper cup of coffee cradled between his hands. I wondered whether he’d be insulted if I bought him a breakfast sandwich. I got to the register and ordered 12 of them. “What type of bagels?” the cashier asked. “Mix them up,” I said. “The best ones, I guess.”

I got my order and walked over to the man holding his coffee. “I hope it’s okay,” I started. He didn’t turn around. He didn’t know I was talking to him. “Sir?”

He jumped a little bit, started to get up. “I’m sorry!” I said. Did he think he needed to leave? 

“I’m sorry. Perhaps you’ve eaten already but you remind me of someone and…” I didn’t know what to say. I handed him a breakfast sandwich from my bag. He sat again, didn’t look at me. I felt like a dick and turned away.

“Bless you.” I’m not sure whether he said it or whether it was from somebody else, but I turned back and put my hand on his arm. I wanted him to know I saw him.

He looked up, smiled, turned, and opened his sandwich. I passed the other sandwiches out along the way back to my hotel thinking how little it was.

How our meal the night before that included two bottles of wine would have paid for a sleeping bag, socks, and 100 more breakfast sandwiches.

“It’s something,” the empty bag whispered. “You’re right,” I said. “It’s more than I did for him yesterday.” I got back to the hotel and looked in the mirror. “You’re not a hero,” I said.  

And the truth is, passing out breakfast sandwiches when you can afford to is NOT being a hero. It’s being human. It counts, though.

All that we do counts. All that we don’t do does, too. There are tiny and big ways to be an almost hero, after all. And being an almost hero is better than being a bully. Being like tRump.

Not so long ago, but before you or I were here, people hid Jews from Nazis. They were heroes, although it probably didn’t feel like they were doing enough at the time. The did something, though. 

It’s people like you and me who freed slaves, gave women the right to vote, and made it so people with disabilities aren’t locked away. People like you and me are why my son received the support he needed in preschool to learn to use his voice so that one day, he too will be able to say “that’s not right,” and affect change. We’re why he has the support he needs today. We are why.

We’re heroes, friends. Each of us and all of us. We’re the ones who can choose light rather than blame, and hope for change rather than fear.

We choose things each day. We choose the tiny and big ways to be an almost hero. While walking to buy coffee and breakfast sandwiches, we choose to see or not-so-much see those around us. We choose seeing, or not seeing. We can be the one talking to teenagers about suicide. We choose.

I know that buying a homeless person a few extra minutes to sit in a shop while he eats eggs and cheese on a bagel isn’t much.

I also know it’s a start, and that helping is better than blame. 

Here’s to imagining each of our moments as chances to be a hero, or to remain silent. Here’s to doing what we can – and there will be times when we can’t do much, and that’s ok too – we do what we can, when we can.

Here’s to being heroes in each way possible. Here’s to seeing heroes in our children, and in theirs, and knowing that each time we breathe deeply and see the heroes they’re each unfolding to become, rather than being annoyed at their mistakes, we’re a little bit hero.

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This has been a Finish the Sentence Friday post, with the prompt “I feel most like a hero when…” Snippets of this post were originally published on the #1000Speaks blog that I wrote for in June, 2016.

Work and life got in the way today, and I’m not a hero for re-using some words and thoughts I’ve shared before. Except, maybe, it is a tiny bit hero, because it means Tucker and I went to the pool today, I got news coverage for some workers with special needs being displaced by a contract award in Fairfax County, and that I’ll go to bed at a decent time tonight to take Tucker go-karting tomorrow.

We take our tiny-hero wins where we can, friends. That’s important, too. Because there are tiny and big ways to be an almost hero.