My hero is my father. He wears a pair of gold rimmed glasses, with lines of wrinkles creased on his forehead and crow feet etched at his eyes. My father is always dressed in a polo tee and khaki shorts whenever he is at home, with a huge pot belly bulging out of his waistline. “This pot belly,” he always says, “has so much junk inside that it’ll definitely be able to last me through World War 3.” My father has a pair of thick grubby, weather-beaten hands. They are so rough and worn out that they resemble coarse tree bark. His hands never fail to offer me comfort and security when they are clasped over mine.
I have always looked up to my father, for he symbolizes a pillar of strength and determination. My admiration for father deepened when he saved me from a school menace in primary school.
Back then I had hated primary school thoroughly because everyday I had to face a troublemaker who never failed to make my life hell. Though I confided in my father in almost everything, including stuff that girls told their mothers and best friends, somehow I never told him about the bully who ruined my life. That nemesis of mine derived a sick pleasure from pulling my braids, vandalizing my books, tearing my worksheets and stealing my possessions. Although I was never hurt physically by him, just his mean words alone could wreck my feelings. With no one to turn to in school and at home, I could do nothing abut sob in the school’s toilet during recess. If someone thought hell was just an afterlife destination, my life in school had redefined it.
As the days passed, father sensed a drastic change in me as I was no longer as lively and enthusiastic as before. He had tried talking me into telling him my problems, but I always declined as I did not want to burden him with my issues. This went on until one day I finally broke down and blurted out every single detail of the nightmares I went through daily. When I finished my last sentence, father nodded slowly and said that he would do something about it. I had strongly rejected this idea of father taking matters into his own hands as I did not want the bad relationship between me and the menace to deteriorate any further. However, father reassured me and promised that from the next day onwards I would never be tormented by anyone in school ever again.
The very next day, father told me that I would not be having anymore problems in school as he had settled the matter for me. I was doubtful at first, but true enough my nemesis had completely ceased taunting me. In fact, he had even assisted me in my assignments and shared his food with me. I was completely overwhelmed with indescribable emotions as I had never thought that this day would come. When I reached home that day and questioned father about what he did, I had expected the peacemaking process to involve violence but it turned out that all my father did was gave him a packet of chocolates and a few words of wisdom.
My father evolved from a mere parent to my hero on that very day. This is because no only had he taught me that conflicts can be resolved amicably, without violence. He had also made me realize that everyone has a bit of good hidden in them somewhere, even menaces. All we have to do is search for it, and not give up on them before they give up on themselves.