Who's the hero?

Me! I'm the hero!

Mom, Taissa, and I were arriving home from Kingston -- finally got a good pair of jeans -- and as we pulled into our road I saw an old guy in his backyard, on all fours. He appeared to have a shovel or something in front of him, maybe he was gardening, but he made eye contact with me and looked uncomfortable; it was hot today. After we got up the hill I walked back down to see if he was OK. Ends up it wasn't a shovel, it was his cane, and he'd fallen while out for a stroll in his yard. I helped him up and then walked him to the front of his house.

I sat with him while he rested on a bench. He was 77. His wife had died five years earlier and "it's all been downhill since then." They'd been married for 52 years, together for four years before that. The kids these days make him sad, what with their sexuality at 13. Finally, here's someone who'd appreciate the fact that my first kiss was at 20! (Dares at oceanography camp doesn't count.)

He said he'd met my grandfather several years ago. They talked beekeeping. My grandfather offered him his beekeeping supplies, an offer which was politely refused. We talked about old age, and not dying too old so that you still have living friends who can attend your funeral.

After a bit he was recovered enough to be escorted to his front door. I could hear the tv -- his daughter, he said. He invited me in, but the house smelled like animals, lots and lots of animals; I declined.

OK, maybe technically it's more "being a good person" than it is "heroism", but I'm in a sullen brat phase right now, so it's nice to do something for someone else.

I'd still like to poke animal feces with my uncle-aunt-cousins' toothbrushes, but that's a different kind of "doing something for someone else". I'm not sure what kind; I'm still disappointed that Nietzsche never published "Beyond Good and Evil Pranks".