No Capes

Do you know any heroes?

 I don't mean someone you admire because they inspire you to start a business or run a marathon. I'm talking about someone who risks their life to save another, or maybe it was your life that was saved. That's the quintessential hero, someone who charges in on a white horse and carries you to safety. 

Actually, the horse isn't really part of the job description, what with wear and tear on carpets and the rising cost of hay. Don't even get me started on live-animal transport regulations at border crossings. But how cool would that be, if a horse came with the job?  

Imagine you were rescued. Pulled from the edge of disaster, returned to your life and loved ones; maybe whole, maybe broken, but returned and offered the chance to heal and carry on. What would you say, if you could? What would you do, if you had the chance to thank your saviour? I don't know about you but I'd build libraries and parks, dedicate statues, name happy hour cocktails. I'd certainly write a book. Everyone would know that somewhere out there, a person was selfless enough to change my life by saving it. I would do everything in my power to deserve that gift and I would ensure that my hero knew the depth of my appreciation.

But would it change how you felt if you knew your hero was paid to save your life? If it was their job? 

There it is again. That word. Job. 

(The thumping and banging you hear is my soapbox being dragged to the center of the room.)

What if being a hero was actually a job? Not one you need a cape for, obviously, but a real paycheck-every-two-weeks, annual vacation, fill-out-the-paper-work-in-triplicate job? They are out there. Countless military members, firefighters, police officers and paramedics, most if not all of whom would certainly shrug off the idea that they are in any way heroic, receive a paycheck for what they do. Does that make them less heroic? 

And what if it someone decided that it did?

What if someone, somewhere decided that your hero was just doing their job. Now, it's one thing for your hero to tell you this. Modesty is quite beguiling, after all. It's actually nice to know that there are people out there, people of great skill and compassion, who roam around looking for opportunities to save lives, with no thought of recognition or compensation beyond the ability to use their highly specific skill set. I sleep better just thinking about it. 

It doesn't answer my question, though. What if it was decided that heroism is not just it's own reward but also it's only reward. That an act of selflessness should go unacknowledged and unawarded because the hero was on the payroll, and that to do otherwise could foster a culture of highly skilled risk-takers, who's actions are driven by the need for accolades and applause. Instead fostering a culture of highly-skilled risk-takers who's actions are driven by...what? The risk of PTSD, physical or career-ending injury, death or, possibly even  worse, a bland, nut-free cake at their retirement dinner because Brenda in accounting once had cashews and they made her tongue feel weird.

We ask much of these servants to the public. We require them to run towards the screaming. We train them to walk into the burning buildings. We insist they stand up for the ideals of our country, even on foreign soil, away from their families and in the midst of insanity and injustice. We demand that they do their duty. Do we have the right to demand they do it without commendation? Do we have the right to insist they have no outward means to show quiet pride for their good works?

I mean, I got a certificate and a scratch n' sniff sticker from my employer for doing a years worth of lunch-time yard supervision, a duty actually outlined in my actual contract, and I talked about it for days. 

Heroes do what they do because they have the will and skills to do the things that the rest of us can't or won't. They don't want books, or parks, or libraries, or the paparazzi trampling their azaleas. What they want is at the least a simple thank you from those they saved and at most an acknowledgment from their peers and superiors that they fulfilled their purpose, commendably, and with grace and humility. That they have, in fact, done their job. 

Heroism is a choice, and one that should not go unawarded. Ask any preschooler why they want to be a police officer or a soldier and they won't say it's because the pension is good. They will tell you it is because they want to be heroes, they need to be heroes. And we need them, too.  Presenting our heroes with a bauble to wear on their breast is not an encouragement of recklessness, it is recognition that they performed admirably, as expected, and prevailed when the worst was anticipated. 

I am quite extraordinarily lucky. I know lots of heroes, many by name, and it's my privilege to know them when they are at their least heroic. I see them mowing their lawns and playing with their children. I've hosted them at backyard campfires and let them teach me washer-toss. I've listened to them laugh, curse, sing and complain about the weather. They are my neighbours, my community, my friends and my family. Thank you, to each and every one.