When I was about ten years old my mother had gotten me and my brother scooters. A short time after I had fallen off while neglecting my mother’s caution to ride slowly. This minor accident felt like my legs had suffered from a miniature explosion and my arms were badly severed. My mother knew that it was only a small cut and bruise and it would only take days for it to heal. However I insisted that I had broken my wrists and that we needed to go to the hospital immediately. Without a single hesitation she led me into the car and drove straight to the hospital. After spending countless hours in a seemingly endless process of sitting and waiting, the doctor released me with only a few bandages. My heroic mother couldn’t protect me from the pain of getting hurt but she made sure that she did every possible thing to negate the effects. As my hero she comforted me when I was in pain, and when I needed her most. She was able to provide me with a sense of security giving me the confidence that everything would be alright.
My mother is a hero not because of what she offers to the world, but what she offers to me. She makes me feel like I am the most important person in the world. I know that she would drop anything in the world if it meant protecting me from being hurt. My mother has given me the knowledge required to be a successful productive member of society. She has taught me to love the skin that I’m in, and never to be afraid of expressing my personality. My mother is my hero, even without her own personal sandwich.