One of the greatest heroes in history that showed exemplary valor never fought on a typical battlefield.
His greatness was embodied by the legacy he so willingly passed onto his children --- the struggle for truth, godliness and education; in spite of a society that substantiates the notion that poverty robs you off the luxury of these three.
Our hero, as typical heroes are, was not born with a silver spoon. He grew up tending animals in a land that was not their own. As a child, his playtime was incorporated at work, and he faced society’s threat that a farmer’s son barely had the chance to get a good education.
His battleground was society’s discriminating environment. He armed himself with humility, shielded the purity of his intent with constancy. His determination was his spear, his hard work, his sword. He remained patient in the midst of toil. He eluded gunshots with his uncompromising principle, and remained steadfast in the battlefield through his faith in God.
I’ve seen his face distraught many times. Even heroes can fall, and they fall hard. These are the times that strengthened his armor, times that sharpened his spear. Though imperfect, his unwavering audacity allowed him to get up on his knees and fight once more.
He gets out of the battlefield tattered. His ashen face fails to conceal his eyes that glimmer with glory. He appears wounded, yet his entire state speaks of healing and of hope instead of failure.
He may not be such a perfect hero, but his valiance is just too remarkable to remain unseen. I hope I can live up to the kind of hero he is, if not for the people around me, at least for my children. Just the way he was, and still is, for us.
Happy Hero’s Day, Dad.
His greatness was embodied by the legacy he so willingly passed onto his children --- the struggle for truth, godliness and education; in spite of a society that substantiates the notion that poverty robs you off the luxury of these three.
Our hero, as typical heroes are, was not born with a silver spoon. He grew up tending animals in a land that was not their own. As a child, his playtime was incorporated at work, and he faced society’s threat that a farmer’s son barely had the chance to get a good education.
His battleground was society’s discriminating environment. He armed himself with humility, shielded the purity of his intent with constancy. His determination was his spear, his hard work, his sword. He remained patient in the midst of toil. He eluded gunshots with his uncompromising principle, and remained steadfast in the battlefield through his faith in God.
I’ve seen his face distraught many times. Even heroes can fall, and they fall hard. These are the times that strengthened his armor, times that sharpened his spear. Though imperfect, his unwavering audacity allowed him to get up on his knees and fight once more.
He gets out of the battlefield tattered. His ashen face fails to conceal his eyes that glimmer with glory. He appears wounded, yet his entire state speaks of healing and of hope instead of failure.
He may not be such a perfect hero, but his valiance is just too remarkable to remain unseen. I hope I can live up to the kind of hero he is, if not for the people around me, at least for my children. Just the way he was, and still is, for us.
Happy Hero’s Day, Dad.
