My Hero

My hero is my dad. He’s not Superman, and he sure isn’t perfect, but he always showed up. He never phoned it in. He never sat on the bench. He was always in the game, and I love him for that.

I learned a lot from my hero. I learned how to change the oil in a ’63 VW Bug. I learned to watch out for the pulling guard on a sweep while playing outside linebacker. I learned that I was a lousy liar, and he had a nose for the truth. I learned that what made you a man wasn’t the strength of your arm, but the rock-solid nature of your character. Even so, my dad had a strong arm.

My dad also taught me with his mistakes. He taught me that the most important words a man can ever say are, “I’m sorry.” Followed immediately by, “I love you.” He showed me what it was like to do the right thing, even when it scares you to death.

My dad is like a lot of dads who never earn the media spotlight because they are just dads, doing what they’re supposed to do. I have no doubt they do it because they love their families. Mine did.

Thanks, Dad. I love you.

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