Someone once told me that heroes are only found in fairytales. The
people we as humans have labeled heroes are just acting on impulse in the
right place at the right time, following the direction of their flowing
adrenaline. I have pondered this theory many nights lying in bed as the
crickets sing outside in the damp evening grass, and Ive thus concluded
this hypothesis incorrect. A hero is certainly not a normal being, especially
not after witnessing a loved one lay his life on the line to saver something
in heart, he knew was very special to you.
At the tender age of seven, my only real friends were my mom, dad, and my
beautiful dog Buzz, a big burly hound dog that followed me around everywhere
I went. My father and I along with Buzz would spend our winter weekends at
our house in Hunter Mountain ice fishing and sometimes, my dad would even let
me sink in a few hunting lessons, though he didnt like me to be around guns.
I loved to watch the excitement in his eyes not when he caught fish but when
I did, and the way Id hug Buzz and hold up my prize for him to poke his
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