Though Halloween is still over a month away, I’m already thinking of what would make a good costume.

Heroes are popular fodder for costume parties, but I’ve never really been inspired by Superman or Wonder Woman. I’ve always been an Aqua Man girl, myself. I dig a man that can talk to the fishes.

A hero would have to be someone who has done something fantastic to radically alter your existence; someone you look up to and hang out with.

I have a million heroes. I judge my heroes by their hands. Tuesday morning Branson Sparks, photographer and jack of all trades, voluntarily climbed into a dumpster to retrieve my textbook and speech that were accidentally thrown away.

“Here’s your stuff. I’m going to wash my hands.” After carrying my text that was dripping with dumpster juice, he had hero’s hands.

Other heroes aren’t just colleagues, but have been integral part s of my life.

My grandmother is my hero. Sure, maybe it is a little cliche, but without her I may not even be writing.

When I was 10 years old, my grandmother used a word in conversation that I did not understand. Curious, I asked her what the word meant and, without skipping a beat, she handed me a dictionary and said “Look it up.” It was the beginning of a beautiful relationship with words.

When I became part of this newspaper and wrote my first column, Tech Talk alum and Times columnist Teddy Allen sent me an e-mail that tickled my grandmother pink. Since that day she has clipped everyone of his columns for me.

About once a month the mailman leaves me a big envelope stuffed full of clippings, and not only from Mr. Allen, but from other Times columnists as well.

My grandmother wants me to be successful. Less than a month before my wedding, I decided I would make a dress for my flower girl. Though she’d not sewn more than a pillowcase in a over a decade, my grandmother said she would help me.

During the following weekends we worked diligently, learning and remembering together. Often, for time’s sake, she would take the project from me.

“Here, you just let me do that,” she said, and sent me to get a snack or a soda.

Every time this happened I watched her. I watched her thin, brown hands manipulating the pins and the fabric late into the night. These are the hands I’ve watched since my childhood; I’ve seen them cross-stitch and bake biscuits and rock babies but never spank.

My grandmother does not like her hands; they are brown with work and spotted with age and she hates them.

My grandmother has hero’s hands, and I know they are beautiful.

 

Sharon Shaw is a senior journalism major and serves as editor for The Tech Talk. E-mail comments to sem010@latech.edu.