Hero Day

Over the past month, Harrison’s school has been doing a Box Top for Education fundraiser. If your child brings 5 box tops to school each week, he can dress up on Friday’s theme day. This past Friday was Hero Day.  Initially Harrison wanted to be a Tron guy. Um, sorry dude. Mama’s not that crafty. Then he chose Batman. I tried to convince him to be a real person, but when a five year old boy hears the word “hero” , he thinks Superhero. Ok. Whatever. Be a superhero. We have all of the stuff to dress like Batman. Well, Thursday night at 9pm, long after Harrison had drifted to sleep, I get an email from his school clarifying appropriate hero attire. My first instinct was correct.  Batman wasn’t really what the school had in mind. Oh, boy. Breaking this news to him Friday morning should be awesome. Especially since his Batman costume is laying out and will be staring him in the face. The following morning his Daddy broke the news to him -and he was not a happy camper. At first he opted not to dress up but at the last minute changed his mind. He decided to be his Pops. I scrambled together a last minute costume  consisting of jeans, ball cap, and a long sleeve polo. Perfect. He was proud. He talked about how Pops was a hero because he fed him oatmeal, taught him to drive a tractor and caught fish for us. Pops and Harrison were best buddies. What an appropriate choice for a hero.  It made me proud.

This got me thinking about my real life hero. The man known as “Pops” to my children was my Daddy. And he is my real life hero. When I think of my Daddy, I always think of his arms. Strong, tan arms. He always wore a golf shirt and always worked outside when it was warm. So he had a typical farmer’s tan. And he was very tan. His arms were so strong because he was constantly working on our farm. He was an accountant by trade and a hobby farmer by heart. I remember as a little girl, probably Kadie’s age, swinging from his strong, tan arms - like they were monkey bars. I remember those strong, tan arms scooping me into a giant bear hug and holding me tight. I vividly remember his strong, tan arms holding my bike steady when I was trying to ditch the training wheels. I can remember clutching his strong, tan arm on my wedding day, as he walked me down the aisle to give me to Chris. And even in his last months in the hospital, he still had those strong, tan arms. On the days he couldn’t wake up, I would just rub his arms. I can’t explain it but those strong, tan arms always gave me this overwhelming sense of peace and protection. His arms protected and guided me for as long as I can remember. And even in his last days, when his arms started looking frail and fair, just touching his arms made me feel like everything would be okay.  As strange as it may seem, one of the things I miss most about my daddy is his arms.  My world is just not the same without his strong, tan arms.