Heroes Wanted

Charles Barkley--the enigmatic basketball player who has become a walking fountain of alternating humorous, controversial, and wise sound bites--once said, "I'm not paid to be a role model...I'm paid to wreak havoc on the basketball court...parents should be role models."

He uttered this infamous statement in the mid 1990s at the height of his basketball fame, when he and Michael Jordan were battling not only for the NBA championship, but also the hero-worship of America's youth; turns out Sir Charles was not comfortable with being the hero of millions of children who weren't his own.

I was a member of America's youth when Barkley made the comment, and it really didn't phase me. I happily thrust all my hero-worship onto Air Jordan and Ken Griffey Jr. It is only now, as Bemma's eagle eyes and sponge brain observe and absorb every word, sight, action, emotion and nuance around them, that I have a real opinion on Barkley's comment. And I have to say, "I agree with you 100%, Chuck."

Lately Ben and Emma are looking at me in a different way. I don't mean in an emotional or nostalgic way. I mean that they are literally looking at me differently; the expressions on their face, the concentration on their brow, the width and tracking of their eye balls--you know, the physical cues of the face--are different when they look at me. It started happening a few weeks ago, and at first I wasn't sure what to make of it, so I didn't make anything of it. I figured it was a physical development thing along the lines of their soft spots closing, their bones calcifying, or their vocabulary expanding. And then the other day I realized that the facial cues, and the emotional wave they rode on, were oddly familiar. It hit me. My kids are looking at me the way I used to look at Michael Jordan!! Within seconds my realization gave way to joy; but as I replayed the video in my brain titled 'Childhood Hero Worship', panic knocked my joy right out of the ballpark; Griffey Jr. would have been proud.

I was panicked because of the pedestal on which I'd placed my childhood heroes. For all I knew as a kid, Michael Jordan was the right hand of God, placed on this earth to show kids like me how to shoot basketballs, wear shoes, and defeat animated space aliens with the help of his Looney Tune friends. My childhood naivete was blind to the gambling, ego centrism, adultery, and general lack of moral character that was Jordan's life off of the court. It frightened my adult daddy mind that my childhood psyche had placed such significance in the words and actions of a man whose life reeked of emptiness.

In my moment of panic I could no longer deny the feeling that'd been ruminating deep in my consciousness since the twins were born: I am Bemma's Hero; this is the greatest responsibility and honor that I've ever been given.

My insecurities, shame, self-loathing, and unresolved childhood insecurities had, up to that moment, stopped me from embracing the fact that my children revere me. From that place in time, however, my role as 'daddy hero' has been circulating in my mind like a lone piece of clothing in a dryer. And as the idea has made it's rotations my panic has softened, my fear has melted, and I am excited, happy to put on my daddy cape (I refuse to wear tights) and teach my kids what it means to be a human on this planet we call home.

The fact of the matter is that Bemma are going to idolize someone. It's what kids do; it's how they learn. When they study me, scrutinizing the way I speak, spread the peanut butter on their toast, respond to Nora, or interact with strangers, they are learning how to behave. And if I don't deal with my issues and fully embrace the task that has been given me, they will choose to idolize the current generation of athletes/pop stars/social icons. Such a thought is horrifying, not because those people are bad people, but because they are not Bemma's parents; they will never care a mili-fraction as much as Nora or I care. If I let my fear of being a hero to my children stand in the way, my kids will turn to someone else. I'm not okay with that.

So, fully aware of my humanity, I proclaim to anyone who cares to listen, "I'm Bemma's hero."

There will be people in the world who will capture Bemma's admiration, and I'd be a fool if I believed otherwise. But for the rest of my life I will wake up each morning and remind myself that I choose to be the one that Ben and Emma emulate. This reminder will keep me humble, and it will keep me motivated.

Sir Charles, if I ever meet you I will shake your hand and thank you for placing the burden of responsibility right back on us parents. Thank you for not letting us off the hook.

So what do you think, are you ready to be a hero? I'm done trying to figure out what being 'ready' means. All I know is that today I will love my kids with selfless, reckless abandon. And when I mess up and say a harsh word, or ignore a desperate plea, I will not be derailed or hang up my cape. Instead, I will choose again--in that raw moment--to keep loving.