My brother is a hero. No, really. He is. I know that it is common to think of a "hero" as anyone who can be helpful in a time of need. It is common to think that a hero is someone who can do something as mundane as take out the garbage, find a book in a library, or deliver a pizza in 30 minutes or less. That is not the kind of hero my brother is. I don't mean that he is a hero in the modern, meaningless, "everybody is a hero to someone" sense. He is not a ‘hero’ who specializes in excelling in the mundane. He is not a Higglytown Hero. He is a real American hero from Phoenix, Az.
My brother is a U.S. Marine. He is Lance Corporal Jesse Porter of the Second Battalion, Fifth Marine Regiment. He has served his country in Iraq, defended a foreign government from attack, and oversaw an election in a foreign country to ensure that threats and intimidation were minimized. He was part of a quick response team that saved lives of men far better prepared to engage in combat operations than most people who ever read this are.
For months he did this daily. For months he saw friends get injured, and while at times afraid, never cut and ran. For months he covered the exit of his brothers in arms, being the last to leave because of the fatal weapon he carried. For months he endured rigid training, harsh conditions, and action that he does not wish to discuss with civilians since most would simply not understand anyway.
My brother is a man among men. He does not tremble at a leaf
rustling, he does not fear using aggression, and he has no issue with taking an enemy life in the context of combat. And, yet, he is gentle with my daughter and playful with my son as if he had never seen bloodshed in his life.
My brother stands in defense of others knowing that his own life may be lost in this process. He stands for the resurrection of a free Iraq knowing that our media at home diminishes his efforts and the efforts of his brethren.
I understand that everything he does is a part of his job. But it is a job that he chose to do and that many would not choose. He chose to be a U.S. Marine because he understood that it would be hard. This he chose to do in a culture where just being mediocre is considered a great achievement, and where greatness is largely unrecognized or met with quiet dispassion or disdain.
My brother is a hero of the sort of the firefighters who had to carry heavy gear up hundreds of flights of stairs on 9/11 in the hopes of saving some lives…many who had resigned themselves to the likelihood of their death to do so.
Heroism is a concept largely lost on our world until tragedy strikes. Only then do we understand what it means for true heroism to be displayed. A man is not a hero because he excelled in mastering the mundane. He is not a hero because he did something average. He is not a hero who does something with no cost or threat to himself. He is a hero precisely because for a brief time he was more than a man. He rose above his fears, he rose above the average, and he accomplished something that others will never do in their lifetimes…even if it is the giving of his life in the charge of his duty.
How we have lost our understanding of greatness in these times.
My brother will stand at his post knowing that senators, representatives (I call them “Reprehensibles” sometimes), media, and some other civilians will degrade and dishonor his work there. He will combat the enemy knowing that he will be portrayed a ruthless killer if he is filmed doing so. In doing his job and defending this fragile government (one that is as fragile as we once were) he may be lied about and charged with murder. It has happened to these men before. In face of the bullets ahead of him and the bullets behind him at home, he will stand and defend, or he will charge and attack. But he will not falter.
I will teach my son the meaning of greatness and the meaning of heroism and I will use my brother as an example of what it means and what it takes to be more than a man.
I will counter the notion that everyone is a hero if they find that library book or take the garbage to the dump or drive people on the bus. I believe that such a notion dishonors those who do truly magnificent and noble work. I say this not to insult the work of everyday people, but to extol the work of great men. And I know that some military men are not heroes, but are evil. I know that some policemen are not heroes, but are corrupt. I know that some firemen are not heroes, but are
perverted. But I know that those are few and most will place their lives on the line when called upon for the rest of us. These men, and my brother, are not on the level of taking out the garbage or finding a library book. These men stand above the ordinary. They are extraordinary. And that means something to me. And it will to my son and daughter, for that is what I intend to teach them.
It may be true that everybody can be a hero to someone. It is not true that everyone is a hero or acts heroically. My brother is a hero, and he thinks nothing of it. That is the quiet greatness of a hero.
