Everyone in the world has a different opinion about what a hero is. They come in many shapes, sizes, have different characteristics, values, and beliefs. For me, a hero is someone who is willing to put a hundred percent effort into protecting you from pain. They will stop at nothing to provide you with the security of safety; and will share with you the knowledge required for survival. A hero doesn’t have to have impeccable character, high importance in society, or have a classic sandwich named after them in the local pub. A hero just needs to be someone who cares for your happiness and loves you for being yourself. My mother is my hero.
I was about ten years old when I first realized how much of a hero my mother was. I began to understand that the consequences and discipline inflicted on me was not in hatred, but to teach me a simple lesson about life skills. I recall a time back when I was around five or six where I threw an enormous tantrum about eating my vegetables. Being the hero that my mother is, she made me eat every last carrot, pea, and broccoli there was on my plate. At the time I thought that she was just a cruel parent forcing her kids to eat something utterly repulsive. In reality she taught me so many things about life from that single instance: how to have self control, how to keep a healthy diet, and most importantly how to sneak vegetables into my napkin under the table. Till this day mother’s heroic lesson about life skills is continually exhibited in my teenage career. It is because of my mother’s lesson that I try to discipline myself to do things that I would otherwise procrastinate from. Like the undesirable task of eating vegetables; doing my homework and chores before enjoying going out with friends is only second nature.
As my hero my mother has gone out of her way to make sure my happiness is always fulfilled. During my childhood my favorite holiday was Christmas. Like every child, I used to wake up extra early on Christmas morning just to see what Santa had left under the tree. There was never a time where I had woken up to disappointing present-less stocking or missing poorly wrapped package with the scribbled “love Santa” embroidered on the side. She had really made me feel that this magical being was coming every year to drop off that present under the Christmas tree. What really made my mother an outstanding hero is that Santa’s present was always ten times better than her own. She’d even act surprised when I beamed a huge smile after unwrapping the present to find just what I wanted. My mother is a hero in the sense that she didn’t hesitate to make me happy. She didn’t ask for anything in return for my glowing Christmas smile, or even dare to take credit for Santa’s doing. The satisfaction upon my face was all that was necessary to suffice my mother’s actions.