Who’s your hero? It’s a question that I have been reluctant and apprehensive to answer for many years.

It’s a question that usually comes to surface when you’re with a small group of unfamiliar people.

It’s also usually something people ask to try and break the ice or tension within a group of people, but for me, that question didn’t break any glaciers. In fact, those inquiring always left me feeling like I had to say something or they would think to themselves, “That poor girl doesn’t have a hero.”

Of course there have been plenty of people that I look up to and admire, but the word “hero” hasn’t been a label I’ve loosely tagged anyone with.

I think the term hero goes hand-in-hand with another word I don’t use that often; best friend. They are both extraordinary words and one should think very carefully before regarding someone with that utmost admiration.

My dad is one person who would probably be the last to foresee himself receiving the title of my hero, but he is one person that I admire deeply.

My poor dad has had to put up with my many outbursts of fury and my sometimes overly sensitive feelings.

Girls should count themselves lucky if they are one of the few that has a father who tries to completely understand them. I’m sure there have been many times when I’ve scared and confused my dad to the point of no return.

For instance, I was about 11 years old and it was in the evening when I asked my parents if I could see a movie with a friend and her parents.

Of course my parents said yes and I was soon picked up by a mini van caravanning for the dollar movie theater.

The movie chosen for tonight was, “Dante’s Peak.”

When we drove up to the front of the movie theater, my friend’s parents looked back at us and said, “Alright girls, have fun.”

After following my friend to the box office, I start thinking to myself, “I’ve never been to a movie by myself before,” and I quickly begin to panic.

After entering the doors to the shabby, musty, buttery-smelling theater, I decided that I wanted to call my dad because I was uncomfortable.

My dad, without hesitation came to the theater, and watched two hours of volcano exploding terror with my friend and me.

The best part of this memory was when the movie ended my dad slipped out of the theater without being seen by my friend’s parents.

I’m sure I argued with him that I would be embarrassed if I was caught by the so-called “chaperones.”

I didn’t want the parents to know I was scared and needed my dad but I’m now sure my friend told her parents everything as soon as they dropped me off that night. This didn’t matter to me though.    

I’ve never really thought much about this seemingly insignificant incident before but my dad rescued me from “Dante’s Peak” that night, so I guess you could say that makes him a hero.     

 

Sara Bergquist is a senior journalism major from Lafayette and serves as associate managing editor for The Tech Talk. E-mail comments to sbe007@latech.edu.