Unsung Heroes
In my preschool the children have been talking about their heros. The hero pendulum swung back and forth from Spiderman to Superman. One little boy, Jaedon said:" I'm going to grow up and be the real Spiderman and really, webs will come from my hands."
"My hands and feet will stick to buildings and I will climb tall, tall buildings without a ladder!"
Jaedon excitedly told us. The magic of his words were, that, he really, really believes this.
These children are four and five years old; my grandson, Greg, who is now ten, at their age thought he wanted to be Zorro. Zorro was his hero from about age three to six or seven. There wasn't anything that Zorro couldn't do. My daughter, Melinda worked an evening shift and I watched my grandson for her. On the nights I watched him we had to watch the movie Zorro over and over. A lot of the scenes didn't register with him, however the dashing sword fighting scenes did. Also, the dance scenes with Katherene Zita Jones. I had to play her part as we danced around the living room. He also wanted to act out the passionate kiss on the mouth at the end of their dance and was quite upset with me when I said a kiss on the cheek would do.
"A Nana and a grandson do not kiss like that." I told him.
"You have to save those special kisses for the one you marry." I told him. It was the best explanation I could conjur up on such short notice. It seemed to pacifiy him for the moment.
I have been contemplating what my definition of a hero is. How do I define a hero?
Today's news hit home; actually, I felt as if I'd been punched in the stomach. Hard. There are so many heros and for the most part they go unnoticed; living each day performing the duties of what needs to be done and doing it.
I saw the faces
of the civilian survivors
Of the bombings in Beirut
And southern Lebanon.
Peace Keepers trying to bring
some measure of hope
some measure of usefulness
a safe haven beckoning
to the weary masses.
No threat to anyone.
Bombs dropped.
I saw the anguished faces of the mothers.
I am a mother.
I saw the wounded children
being brought out on stretchers.
Crying
Shaking and trembling
Terror stricken
Innocents
I have children.
Tonight they are victims
They will become heros
In their daily, yearly battle to rise
Above this senseless violence.
The rescuers
They are heros
As they risk
life and limb
in searching out the living.
The Doctors
The Interns
The EMT's
The Nurses
The CNA's
The Drivers
The Teachers
The List Goes On
All Heroes.
The one who holds a hand
Offering words of encouragement.
Unsung hero.
The one who carries
A broken body
Wispering, Crooning
Willing it to stay alive.
Unsung hero.
I am shaken to my most
inner most depth
On some level
There is a connectivness
There is a unity of spirit
There is a longing...
To bring this even closer to home
In our own back yard.
Where are the heros?
There is the Mother
Whose inner wisdom told her,
Her's was a greater Love
That gave her child up for adoption.
She is an unsung hero.
There is the man
Who wholesomely embraced
The Fatherless child
Creating memories filled with love.
The man died of cancer.
When asked, if he could spend the day
With anyone, anyone at all
Who would it be?
The child named the name of the deceased.
That man is an unsung hero.
The quiet
behind the scenes
hospice workers
who bring calmness and order
to a bereaved family.
They are unsung heros.
To the families
That quietly care for disabled loved ones
Moving mountains in their name
Never knowing their true strength
Until this life experience drew it out
They are unsung heros.
To the struggling Mother's
And Father's
With children
Wearing society's labels
Not fitting in...
The nests made for them.
They are all unsung heros.
To the adult
Whose demons of the past
Threaten to crush you.
Yet, you get up each day
You deal with whatever comes
You are an unsung hero.
Those who tirelessly
give of themselves
to care for our four legged
"brothers" and "sisters"
And all other creatures
Great and Small.
Unsung heros.
To all the unsung heros I didn't mention
I raise you up. Know your unsung hero status.
Hold your head high.
Who are your heros?
In my preschool the children have been talking about their heros. The hero pendulum swung back and forth from Spiderman to Superman. One little boy, Jaedon said:" I'm going to grow up and be the real Spiderman and really, webs will come from my hands."
"My hands and feet will stick to buildings and I will climb tall, tall buildings without a ladder!"
Jaedon excitedly told us. The magic of his words were, that, he really, really believes this.
These children are four and five years old; my grandson, Greg, who is now ten, at their age thought he wanted to be Zorro. Zorro was his hero from about age three to six or seven. There wasn't anything that Zorro couldn't do. My daughter, Melinda worked an evening shift and I watched my grandson for her. On the nights I watched him we had to watch the movie Zorro over and over. A lot of the scenes didn't register with him, however the dashing sword fighting scenes did. Also, the dance scenes with Katherene Zita Jones. I had to play her part as we danced around the living room. He also wanted to act out the passionate kiss on the mouth at the end of their dance and was quite upset with me when I said a kiss on the cheek would do.
"A Nana and a grandson do not kiss like that." I told him.
"You have to save those special kisses for the one you marry." I told him. It was the best explanation I could conjur up on such short notice. It seemed to pacifiy him for the moment.
I have been contemplating what my definition of a hero is. How do I define a hero?
Today's news hit home; actually, I felt as if I'd been punched in the stomach. Hard. There are so many heros and for the most part they go unnoticed; living each day performing the duties of what needs to be done and doing it.
I saw the faces
of the civilian survivors
Of the bombings in Beirut
And southern Lebanon.
Peace Keepers trying to bring
some measure of hope
some measure of usefulness
a safe haven beckoning
to the weary masses.
No threat to anyone.
Bombs dropped.
I saw the anguished faces of the mothers.
I am a mother.
I saw the wounded children
being brought out on stretchers.
Crying
Shaking and trembling
Terror stricken
Innocents
I have children.
Tonight they are victims
They will become heros
In their daily, yearly battle to rise
Above this senseless violence.
The rescuers
They are heros
As they risk
life and limb
in searching out the living.
The Doctors
The Interns
The EMT's
The Nurses
The CNA's
The Drivers
The Teachers
The List Goes On
All Heroes.
The one who holds a hand
Offering words of encouragement.
Unsung hero.
The one who carries
A broken body
Wispering, Crooning
Willing it to stay alive.
Unsung hero.
I am shaken to my most
inner most depth
On some level
There is a connectivness
There is a unity of spirit
There is a longing...
To bring this even closer to home
In our own back yard.
Where are the heros?
There is the Mother
Whose inner wisdom told her,
Her's was a greater Love
That gave her child up for adoption.
She is an unsung hero.
There is the man
Who wholesomely embraced
The Fatherless child
Creating memories filled with love.
The man died of cancer.
When asked, if he could spend the day
With anyone, anyone at all
Who would it be?
The child named the name of the deceased.
That man is an unsung hero.
The quiet
behind the scenes
hospice workers
who bring calmness and order
to a bereaved family.
They are unsung heros.
To the families
That quietly care for disabled loved ones
Moving mountains in their name
Never knowing their true strength
Until this life experience drew it out
They are unsung heros.
To the struggling Mother's
And Father's
With children
Wearing society's labels
Not fitting in...
The nests made for them.
They are all unsung heros.
To the adult
Whose demons of the past
Threaten to crush you.
Yet, you get up each day
You deal with whatever comes
You are an unsung hero.
Those who tirelessly
give of themselves
to care for our four legged
"brothers" and "sisters"
And all other creatures
Great and Small.
Unsung heros.
To all the unsung heros I didn't mention
I raise you up. Know your unsung hero status.
Hold your head high.
Who are your heros?
posted by Learning Lollipops | 7:03 PM
2 Comments:
Angleina, YOU'RE a hero, for the poems you write. Thanky you for reminding me of who the real heroes are.
Beautiful and touching.
Thank you.
Glad to see you're back online. Keep going.
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