Hero is a word thrown about rather casually these days. Athletes and celebrities seem to be everyone's new heroes.
But in my opinion, real acts of heroism are done quietly and without fanfare every day by the most unassuming people. Someone I always think of is a boy I really didn't even know, who stepped into my life for one brief interval on an autumn day long ago.
I was in seventh grade, that awful age for girls when all your nerve endings seem to live outside your body and every emotion is magnified by at least 50.
It was right after school. There were two very small injured squirrels in the street in front of my house. I was never sure how they got there. Could they both somehow have fallen out of their nest, which was in the tall tree by the curb, or were they hit, somewhat unbelievably, by the same car?
At any rate, to my mind it was a scene of horror. One lay freshly smushed, which was sad enough. But even worse, the other squirrel, who was also severely injured, was still very much alive, and flailing about pitifully in the street.
It was unable to get far and obviously not going to live. I was hysterical. I wanted my mother to DO something, anything, to help this tragic little creature. I remember standing there with her and some neighborhood kids, helplessly watching it for what seemed like hours but was probably more like minutes. With a stick, we pushed it to the side of the road so it wouldn't get hit by another car.
"Can't we bring it to the vet?" I implored.
But, "No," my mother said gently. There was nothing we could do to save him.
"We have to do something," I insisted.
And then he appeared. He was just a boy, probably no more than 16, walking home from school down our street with a couple of friends. He came upon us standing there and stopped. I'm sure I was still weeping.
He looked at the squirrel and then raised his big, dark eyes to my mother. "Do you have a shovel?"
Gently he scooped the animal onto the metal snow shovel my mother brought him. "You wait here," he said to me.
"He has a lot of courage," my mother told me, as we watched him disappear behind our garage. "This is the right thing to do, but that doesn't make it any easier."
He emerged moments later, his face somber as he handed the shovel back to my mother.
"He's not suffering anymore," my mother announced.
The boy smiled sadly at me, and he and his friends continued on their way.
The other kids and I tentatively headed back behind the garage to search out the grave. It wasn't hard to find. On top of the small patch of freshly packed earth, he'd thought to leave two small rocks to mark the spot.
I never even knew his name. And I never saw him again.
But I'll never forget him.
For more Spins on Heroism, go straight to Sprite's Keeper.
Oh, this made me cry. What a GREAT story.
Posted by: Jan | November 17, 2009 at 09:20 AM
That boy had a lot of maturity for his age. What impresses me most is how well written this story is. Maureen, you never fail to amaze me with your words. Love this!
You're linked!
Posted by: Sprite's Keeper | November 17, 2009 at 10:56 AM
Maybe that boy will read this story and remember too, that one day he was somebody's hero.
Posted by: LPC | November 17, 2009 at 11:01 AM
A very wise woman (ok, my mother) told me that the right thing to do is rarely the easiest thing to do.
Posted by: Sandi | November 17, 2009 at 11:06 AM
That made me cry. What a wonderful story.
Posted by: Erin@TheLocalsLoveIt | November 17, 2009 at 11:43 AM
Beautiful. Never know when we might be someone's hero. To be so brave and wise at the age...gotta wonder where he is in life now.
Posted by: SuziCate | November 17, 2009 at 12:53 PM
It's amazing how a random act or person touches your life in a way that you will never forget.
Thanks so much for sharing this
Posted by: mrsblogalot | November 17, 2009 at 05:10 PM
What a beautiful, touching story. And so beautifully told. I used to teach high school and that age gets such a bad rap. Most of them have the same beautiful souls like the boy in your story. What a precious memory and lesson you had in this moment.
Posted by: Jane | November 17, 2009 at 05:14 PM
What a nice spin on a terrible day for you. That boy was definitely much older than his age. Great story, thanks for sharing!
Posted by: Menopausal New Mom | November 17, 2009 at 05:56 PM
Ooooh, I LOVE this story, Maureen. And very well-told too.
Thank you so much for sharing.
xo
Posted by: Erin | November 17, 2009 at 07:40 PM
Oh, where was this boy two summers ago when PB and I couldn't bring ourselves to do this? Instead we sat in our house, listening to the poor squirrel scream. It makes me sad just to think about it. I can't even imagine the inner strength it took for a boy to do something a grown man and woman couldn't. I'm glad you had that moment of knowing him.
Posted by: Mama Badger | November 18, 2009 at 04:46 PM
I always wonder if the people who come into our lives for only a moment ever realize the impact they make upon us. Do you think it meant as much to him? Or he was just doing what had to be done.
Posted by: Smart Mouth Broad | November 18, 2009 at 06:12 PM
Oh, what a sweet, sweet boy! We can only hope as parents that we could raise our children to have that kind of courage and empathy.
I'm sure this boy has forgotten all about this moment...and yet, you never forgot.
Wouldn't it be great if we could reach out to ppl from our past and let them know what a difference they've made?
Posted by: kathryn | November 18, 2009 at 08:21 PM
What a nice story!
Posted by: Jason | November 18, 2009 at 10:17 PM