Dad

As youngsters, little boys are often overheard telling their teachers, friends, and family that their fathers are their heroes.

I never really felt that way.

Now don't get me wrong, I love my father, and he loves me, but we were never the type of people who had a "Hey son, let's play catch" relationship. I think we've actually said the words "I love you" to each other exactly twice in my life.

But that was fine by me. I never had any complaints with that. Nor do I now.

Dad worked long hours in construction, before beginning his own business around the time I was ten. He still continues to do back breaking labor everyday, simply to provide for my family.

And he's never complained. Never asked for anything in return.

And yet he still made time to watch a movie with my sister or myself. Or to take us to a museum. We still knew that he loved us. He still took time to know us.

It's funny. I feel like I become more and more like him every day.

We sound the same. I get mistaken for him on the phone all the time.

We look similar, especially since my daring decision to grow a goatee.

And you know, looking back now, my father really was a hero. He instilled in me what it is to be a man. A real man.

And after all, isn't that what all men should truly strive to be?