To Be Or Not Be A Hero: What makes a hero, and who decides?

I am so sick and tired of hearing this: "I'm not a hero... it's the [other people] who are the real heroes." We heard it again this week from Daniel Hernandez, Representative Gabby Gifford's intern, the brave young man who ran toward the bullets and used his brand new first aid skills to keep her alive until the emergency responders arrived.

Why is it so difficult for a person who has behaved like a hero, even if it was only for one split-second potentially life-saving moment, to accept the praise of his community and allow himself to be called by the only label that adequately fits? For the past few days, I have been so significantly perplexed by this question that I decided to make the topic the subject of this inaugural "Dingaroo Chew" Blog.

Obviously, the discussion must begin with the official definition. Hoping for a clue as to where this resistance originated, I pulled out The Oxford American Dictionary of Current English, which defines "hero" this way: 
1. a person noted or admired for nobility, courage, outstanding achievements, etc.
2. the chief male character in a poem, play, story, etc.
3. [from Greek Antiquity] a man of superhuman qualities, favored by the gods; a demigod. 
4. a submarine sandwich.

Bingo. Here we find the location of the problem, right there in definition #3. Part of our consciousness must be hung up in Greek Antiquity, living in the shadow of an archetype we do not believe we can ever embody, even for a moment. The problem is, WE DO. We do embody the hero archetype... in varying degrees, certainly, and perhaps in fleeting moments, but we ordinary men and women and children DO occasionally do this "hero" thing. (Animals do it too, but they are smart enough not to dismiss the label, so I leave them out of the discussion here.) Now, I don't know anyone who would say that heroes are only demigods, or that they accomplish feats of bravery only because they are especially favored by the divine. No one would mistake Daniel Hernandez or any other hero for being half-god (as the Greeks believed) any more than they would mistake him for a subway sandwich. So why do we seem utterly unable to use the term hero to describe ourselves? Or even graciously accept the compliment when someone else says it? What are we afraid of? Overconfidence? Pressure that we have to repeat it?


It doesn't make sense, because we are what we do. Aren't we? Or, are we only what we do when it's not glamorous, like being a student, a driver, or a sales clerk? Perhaps we also feel comfortable with labels that are more common, being a brother, a daughter, a friend, a spouse, or a parent. But ask about being a musician, an artist, a researcher, a philosopher, a writer, and you might get only a shrug followed by a self-critical description of "not being very good" at it, or "not making a living" by it. You might not be a perfect driver, but if you do drive, you are a driver. If you write you are a writer, and if you create you are an artist. And we should also embrace the idea of ourselves as potential heroes... because it's something else we actually do... many of us, every day, sometimes without even being aware of it, and often while dismissing the label's use regarding ourselves. But somewhere, sometime in your life, you will have the chance to be a hero for one other human being. And to that person, even the word hero might be too small a word.

You call 911 when you see a fire or an accident, or stop to help a stranded motorist. You wave at a passing car and slow it down so a pet has time to get out of the road. You check in with elderly neighbors after an earthquake. When you see a kid walking home from school, and it looks like he is being bullied, you slow down to check it out, or drive around the block once just to be sure he's okay. You send a little sister emergency funds to keep the lights on. You make an extravagant memorial ceremony for a child who has to bury her hamster in the yard. These are the smaller heroic things you do more often, that go unnoticed, or pass by without fanfare. While these are smaller acts of heroism, they are done with the same energy, and toward the same goal: a solid, conscious intention to help your fellow beings however you can. 

So it should not be so shocking that we remember ourselves in a moment of crisis, and run to assist. Furthermore, the mere fact that we do these things should neither exclude the definition of hero, nor diminish it in any way.

In fact, most heroes deny the label for themselves, no matter how courageous or difficult their actions, with exactly the same reason: "I only did what any other person would have done in my situation." We hear this, and deep in our own souls we hope desperately that we, too, would also do the right thing, the heroic thing... but we're not sure. How can you be? At least, until you're faced with the opportunity. So we put the ones who did so up on a pedestal, and tell ourselves they are different than we are. And maybe that's true. I've met people that felt more polished, energetically clean, who seem to have a light in them. They do seem a cut above, an improved version of humanity. Old souls, maybe, or we sometimes call them "higher evolved." The problem with distancing ourselves from any idealized label, is that it makes it so much harder to later accept the label for ourselves, should we ever earn it in the future. 

Instead of pushing idealized labels away from our identities, we should embrace them; we should aspire to them, even while we study and admire those who have confirmed it by the success of their actions. What label do you aspire to, that you haven't given yourself permission to imagine, try on, or claim boldly. Artist? Musician? Poet? Neurosurgeon? Think about definition #2: don't you want to be the hero of your own life and story?

President Obama said it best at the Tuscon memorial, when he set Daniel Hernandez and the record straight. "We are grateful to Daniel Hernandez, a volunteer in Gabby's office. And, Daniel, I'm sorry, you may deny it, but we've decided you are a hero because you ran through the chaos to minister to your boss, and tended to her wounds and help keep her alive."

There will always be another tragedy, another wreck, another person swept away by the river, hoping for someone to throw a rope. We celebrate heroes because we need to. We need to lift up those who acted in ways that minimized the tragedy, or tried to do so. We need to celebrate the lives of people who remind us what it looks like and feels like to be good, compassionate, brave, determined, and clever. But we also need to remember as we are lifting them up, that we are elevating something that exists in each and every one of us.

When someday you have the opportunity to do the same, and you do it, someone will most assuredly stand up and proclaim that you, too, are a hero. And when they do, please, just say thank you very much.