The night was quiet, and the house was silent. I was ten years old and tucked snuggly in my bed. I was asleep when the doorbell rang. Of course, I could not help but wonder who was at my family’s front door at 2 o’clock in the morning! I stayed in bed, wondering if my mom was going to answer the door; I was not sure if I should check to make sure everything was all right. At the same time that I was contemplating either staying in bed or checking on my mom downstairs, she was actually running upstairs to get my older sister and me. She yelled down the hallway for us to come downstairs into the living room. We stumbled down the stairs with our eyes half opened, wondering what was awaiting us in the living room. We saw him.
The man we called “Daddy” was standing in front of us; he was finally back from Afghanistan! He looked completely different from when he left almost three months ago. He had a beard now – a full beard of different colors. His hair had gotten so long and curly. Suddenly, every feeling of being tired had escaped from my sister’s and my body. We sprinted towards our dad, jumped to wrap our arms around his neck, and kissed his cheeks despite his new whiskers. When he set us down, we could not take our eyes off of him. He looked so different! We were so relieved and thankful to see that he made his way home safely.
Back to bed we went, and soundly we slept. The next day my mom, my sister, and I got home from our busy days. Luckily my mom worked at the school my sister and I attended, so
we could see Dad at home even sooner. We had so many questions to ask my dad. We hated that when we asked certain questions we could not get any answers, but we understood that our dad’s job included more than we could ever understand. He had been in the military fifteen years, and so many times we had to live our lives without knowing where he was, when he would be home, or if he would come home. We got used to this routine, and whenever he would leave again we prayed incessantly for the day we would see my dad at home again. He lived his life everyday, being prepared to get the call to go wherever he was needed to serve our country.
That is why I believe that my dad is my hero. He is someone I look up to – someone I strive to be like. He is retired now, but his passion to serve our country however he can is still present in his character. My dad is the kind of person that our culture should try to mimic – a true hero. Heroes live for other people, not for themselves, and my dad does exactly that. Whenever people ask me, “What does your dad do?” I cannot always give them a straight answer, but I can tell them that whatever he does, he does it for the good of others, and I am proud of him.