he·ro
Pronunciation: \ˈhir-(ˌ)ō\
Function: noun
Inflected Form(s): plural heroes
Etymology: Latin heros, from Greek hērōs
Date: 14th century
1 a: a mythological or legendary figure often of divine descent endowed with great strength or ability b: an illustrious warrior c: a man admired for his achievements and noble qualities d: one that shows great courage
What does a hero look like? Give it some thought. For most people, a certain image comes to mind—someone who's big and strong, prone to acts of selfless bravery, perhaps even tights and a cape. In our family, we taught our kids the word "hero" when they first started to notice firefighters. As the FDNY trucks rumbled down our street, sirens blaring, the kids would wave and call out, "heroes!" (a result of raising kids in post-9/11 New York).
I have a hero. My hero is a little over three feet tall and weighs about 40 pounds. My hero is five years old. My hero is the bravest, strongest, most noble person I will ever know. My hero is my son Sam.
In June I celebrated my sixth Father's Day, and my fourth as the father of a child with diabetes. I spent a lot of time that day thinking about being a father, about the job I'm doing and the good fortune I have to have my children. Fatherhood seemed pretty straightforward to me when Sam came into the world—do everything in your power to protect and care for your children, teach them everything you know, and make sure you have fun along the way. Oddly, the last four years have proven that this simple approach works, even (or perhaps especially) given the challenges of diabetes—I've done all I can possibly do to protect and care for my children, I'm doing my best to teach them well, and we all have fun (almost) all the time. Caring for a child with diabetes is all-consuming. It's exhausting. It's stressful. There is not one second of our lives when we're free from worry. These are all tolls I'm honored to pay to have Sam as my son. I kiss him goodnight every night (and again several more times throughout the night) and see his smiling face every morning, which makes me pretty certain I'm the luckiest father in the world, because Sam is my hero.
A few weeks ago, we learned that Sam likely has celiac disease (a confirmed diagnosis is a few weeks away). This news has taken quite a toll on me and Rachel, as we go through the motions to process it all and learn how to manage another significant health challenge. We're feeling pretty defeated, to be honest—having rallied for the last four years, this one has us against the ropes. The one thing that props us back up is knowing how the one who is really affected by this will handle it—who better to tackle another challenge than my hero Sam.
On Sunday, October 3, our family and friends will walk with Sam in JDRF's Walk to Cure Diabetes. This year, our fourth annual walk, may be a little more emotional than past walks, considering our recent health news. We'll be joined by thousands of other friends and families of kids like Sam (all heroes). Leading our team will be someone who is endowed with great strength and ability, an illustrious warrior admired for his achievements and noble qualities, and one that shows great courage, always. Sam is my hero.
