Happy March Fourth Everybody...

Globe, you're probably asking yourself a question right now. That's right, I know you talk to yourself all the time and sometimes you answer yourself which is kind of scary but even though you know that you keep doing it because you're a psychopath. The question you're asking yourself might not be what I have in mind so if you're not asking the following question I want you to do so, so I can be right. Right now you should be asking yourself, "What's so special about March 4th?" "That's a very good question," you reply as you begin puzzling, "is it my birthday?" "no, it's not my birthday." "Is it some kind of holiday?" "actually, it probably is. It's like some kind of anniversary of something or like 'eat a muffin day'. Oh, well, it is the fourth day of Women's History/Frozen Food Month, maybe that's," WRONG!! "what's," WRONG. "special about," WRONG "dang it! What's going on? Why am I getting yelled at by a blog?! i'm just trying to figure out what's going on here! I don't have to take this crap! I read this out of agency not necessity. I can reduce his followers to two at any moment with one follower representing himself. THIS IS A STUPID BLOG ANYWAY!!" Whoa, Whoa, lets calm down, just take a breather, there's no reason to get upset. It's just that while March 4th may be some weird holiday that nobody really celebrates, that's not the reason for my wishing you a happy one today.

You see, it all started last night at about 11:3o after finishing some mediocre nachos at a Mexican resaurante in Mesquite and we were just sitting there wondering why we were sitting there. It then hit us that we must be waiting to leave at midnight, like it's some kind of holiday, like new years and we wanted to count down to the hour and watch the ball drop. 321 Happy March Fourth!! (Fireworks!) Yay! God Bless America! Woo hoo!!

You know, there's nothing special about march fourth, (if it's your birthday, I apologize) but that's why I think it's special. Today is a day to celebrate today. It's a day to say, "you know what?" "what self?" "Life is a thing to be loved." It's a day to get out in the world and do something more than dream. It's a time to make dreams realities, hopes plans, and goals memories. This year is 63 days old and a lot of our new years resolutions have probably expired. It's time to get back on the worthwhile resolutions and to make some new and improved ones. So happy fourth of March ladies and gents. Happy day that isn't so special to a lot of people. happy friday, or if it's not friday where you live, happy other day of the week! Get out there and dance.

Need a Hero

Where have all the good men gone And where are all the gods? 

Where’s the street-wise Hercules To fight the rising odds?

Isn’t there a white knight upon a fiery steed? Late at night I toss and I turn and I dream of what I need

I need a hero

Bonnie Tyler pinpoints what we all need of in her 1985 single. From that four year old tying a towel around his neck and jumping from his bunkbed to his newly laid off father wishing someone would save the his family, we all need someone or something to look toward to save our day. We all feel, especially in times trial, the need for some kind of intervention, some swooping or dashing or flying on our behalf, not just someone in a faraway land fighting some war or some politician fighting for a paycheck, but someone to fight for us, for our safety and prosperity individually. We need someone to care enough to leap tall buildings in a single bound, race faster than a speeding bullet and outrun that locomotive to catch us because, like it or not, we all fall. We can’t defy gravity or stop time so at least a few times in life we’re sprawled on the ground wishing there was someone, anyone to do what we can’t.

The problem is that while we all need a hero, such a superhuman entity, or even help, doesn’t exist. Sure, there are kind souls in the world who truly care. There are people, millions of them, who fight every day for a better tomorrow but no one is out there to save me. No one cares about my problems, about my missing assignment or my scraped knee or my broken heart or my lost job or my losing battle against every trial that comes down my broken road. It seems like even in greatest need, there’s no help for even the strongest and bravest of men and women in our world.

Grant W. Miswald Jr., like the vast majority of us had no heroic intervention. Through the frontlines of the Second World War he wasn’t miraculously saved from a POW camp. He wasn’t part of some heroic rescue mission or a battle that changed the course of the war. He wasn’t awarded metals or honors for bravery or sacrifice and he didn’t get into the history book as a soldier giving his life for something he deemed necessary. Without getting his day or even minute of fame he staggered from a massacred troop division carrying only the blood of murdered comrades into the village where he would find night refuge with another American infantry. He lead a group of three survivors along an empty ridge only to witness their death by mis-ordered American bullets. He was shot, torn, trampled, bruised and bleeding. He fought, ran, tumbled and tripped through unbeatable circumstances and left only with his only prize, life. No one saved him and he didn’t stop me from falling or change the course of the war but somehow his actions, combined with the actions of thousands of others gave us something to live for.

Sure, he didn’t save my life and he didn’t stop me from falling flat on my face but when it came to it, we don’t need someone to stop us from falling. We need the opportunity to fall. No matter how much we hate to admit it, the simple fact that there is no hero stop us from stumbling is what defines the success of those brave men and women who fought for our right to fall. I get to wish I was bitten by a radioactive arachnid and I get procrastinate to write that essay for my American history class. I get to trip and I get to look down at that pavement that just ripped open my pants and bloodied my knee and realize that if it weren’t for the sacrifices made by America’s veterans, there wouldn’t be a road to run and I wouldn’t be free to run it. If it weren’t for the bullet wounds, the misfired shots and the pain suffered by prisoners of war I might never get the chance to scrape a knee or lose a job or procrastinate an assignment and I wouldn’t be blessed with the self determination to not only pick myself up, but to carry that strength into honoring the sacrifices of soldiers fallen and fighting by using that determination to make my world a better place.

So maybe there isn’t a superman to sweep from the heavens above and save a sad situation. Maybe there isn’t an end all solution to all the world’s woes and my individual struggles, but maybe I don’t need a hero because America’s veterans cared about me without even knowing who I am or what I would do with the gift of freedom. I don’t need a superhero because real and remarkable people cared.