“I’m holding out for a hero ’til the end of the night,”
The words blast through the car. I sit back, and I listen to the song. Sometimes I even sing along. I love cheesy musicals, okay? I watch Disney movies for the music. I’m not proud, I’m me.
Of course, that isn’t what I want. I want what Pepper Potts wanted. She didn’t hope for a hero; she sought a best friend and a partner. A father for her child. Someone to be with her.
I believe she was a little sad at losing her heart to a hero.
Perhaps it is the romantic in me. I don’t know how she felt, and, frankly, she isn’t real. But I believe she felt a twinge of regret that she fell for Ironman, and not simply a man. That she always knew he might (not selfishly, by any means!) sacrifice his life. That she secretly wished he never got into that military vehicle, but instead caught the flu and had to stay in bed while she fed him chicken soup. Or maybe she did, but not after she realized what it meant to love a hero. What she could lose.
She wanted him. Whatever he was for her and their daughter, that was enough for her. She didn’t dream of him saving the world. I think she wished that he would stay a part of her world.
My master is hero enough for me.
I would never diminish what he does for me and our family, for our friends. But I don’t need him “fresh from the fight.” I don’t need him to be “a white knight upon a fiery steed,” nor to show up “larger than life.”
I need him to answer my 2am calls and calm me down from my nightmare. Laugh at my jokes, dumb as they may be. Pull me into him like his very own squishy teddy bear.
Heroes capture our adoration in movies.
They have flashy super hero landings. They have movie poster moments.
Heroes don’t usually make it home to have dinner with the family, because their first responsibility is to the world. Believe me, I have all the respect to the heroes of the world! But I want someone who comes home at night and holds me as I fall asleep.
It’s okay if you want a hero. Only, please remember this: