You Are My Hero

January 12, 2010
By Paige Hobbs SILVER, Cypress, Texas
Paige Hobbs SILVER, Cypress, Texas
6 articles 0 photos 0 comments

The definition of a hero is a person who is admired, idealized for courage, outstanding achievements, or noble qualities, and that is exactly how I feel about my father. No matter what he always believed in, encouraged me, and has never given up on me. My whole life he has continually put me before himself, and anything I’ve ever wanted or needed he would make sure I would have it. I started school at the age of three and attended Westminster Christian Academy, the top private school in Lafayette, Louisiana. Whenever my mother and him were discussing sending me to private school, he wasn’t even concerned about the price of tuition, all he knew was that I was going to attend there no matter what it took. He even got a second job in addition to my mother’s job to put me through elementary school, because my education was very important to him. I love my dad so much and I care about him deeply that whenever April 17th, 2008 rolled around, I was completely shattered.

I thought the day couldn’t get any worse; I had already failed my Science test and United States History Test which dropped my average down to a B kicking me off of honor roll for the year. On top of that, I got a massive stomachache and I threw up in the middle of the school hallway in between classes. It was 2:30 and I was getting off the yellow school bus when I noticed my dad’s car and my mom’s car in the garage. I thought to myself, why is dad home so early from work today? I went inside and looked around for my parents but I couldn’t find them. I thought they might be in their bedroom so I started to walk towards their red painted room when I started to smell this awful, foul smell.
“Ew, what’s that smell?” I asked my mom and dad disgusted.
“Dad’s been vomiting ever since he got home from playing golf around twelve, I think he just ate something bad though that upset his stomach. However, I don’t want you worrying about him, go upstairs, and finish your homework and study,” she said.
“But.. okay,” I replied. I wanted to stay downstairs by my dad’s side helping my mom badly. As I was sitting on the bed trying to do my homework I couldn’t, all I could do was worry about my dad. I was scared out of my mind, what if he doesn’t get better? What if my dad dies tonight? A few hours later, I could still hear him throwing up from their bedroom underneath mine. He never seemed to be getting better after the hours he spent at home. I snuck downstairs momentarily to get a snack because I couldn’t sleep when I overheard my parents talking,
“Greg, you’re not getting any better and there’s nothing else that I can do. I think we need to call an ambulance to come pick you up,” she stated coldly.
“Yeah I think so too,” my dad responded, instantly I could feel my heart drop three thousand feet. I ran back upstairs to my room, began to walk in circles, and said to myself, “This isn’t happening, God help me please,” repeatedly.
A few seconds later, I heard a knock on my white wooden door and it was my mom, “Can I come in?” she asked.
“Sure,” I responded blankly.
“I don’t want you to freak out, but dad’s not getting any better so I called the ambulance to come pick him,” she said frigidly with watery eyes, “I’m going to follow the truck back to the hospital and wait for there, you can come if you like.”
I pretended to be completely calm and under control, “No I’m just going to stay here,” I responded. In my head there were all these thoughts that were going on, what if he has to spend days in the hospital? What if he never gets better?
“Okay,” she stated then got up and left the room. As soon as the door shut behind her I could feel my eyes begin to water and it felt like I had rocks in the pit of stomach. I immediately buried my head in my white silk covered Tempur-Pedic pillow and began to cry hysterically till I gave myself a headache. A few minutes later I looked up from my now black mascara stained pillow to see the flashing lights from the truck outside my window. From around the corner of my room I watched the paramedics put my dad on the white cotton stretcher; I’m almost positive that was the most depressing thing a daddy’s girl can ever see in her life. I closed my eyes because I didn’t want to watch anymore and all these memories and thoughts just started rushing through my head. When I was in second grade he forced my play basketball because he thought I was going to be such a great player like he was. My dad didn’t give up on me and pushed me to my limits so that I could be successful. Thanks to him I’ve been playing basketball for eight years now and I’m on the starting line up at my school.
I opened my eyes momentarily and saw the paramedics putting the IV in his arm and immediately shut them back again. It was the night before and he was getting on me about studying more and how I need to apply myself more in school. Eventually our conversation turned into an argument and then grew into a complete fight, I was so completely irritated by him.
“I hate you, you’re the worst father ever!” I shouted at him as I was running up the stairs. I felt completely guilty for what I had said whatever my dad was trying to do was only to benefit me in the long run. Immediately after those words crossed my mind, I opened my eyes to see everyone was gone. I went back into my room, pacde in circles again, and began to think aloud to myself. I said, “I need to cherish every moment I have with him or any family member because I could lose them the next day. I could lose my dad tonight and those words would be the last ones he would here from me, not I love you but I hate you.” I thought I was the worst daughter ever and he didn’t deserve that at all. I called my best friend Christina to come pick me up after the ambulance truck left so I didn’t have to stay overnight by myself.
I texted my mom every five minutes for updates on what was going on and she said, “They haven’t found out what is wrong with him yet, but I want you to go to sleep and not worry about this.” I didn’t listen to her though I stayed up for hours worrying about him, but I eventually cried myself to sleep around two o’clock in the morning.
I sigh of relief came over me whenever my mom came to pick me up from Christina’s house and said that dad was home. The doctor diagnosed my dad with a bad case of acid reflex, prescribed him some medication, and released him from the hospital around 4:30 in the morning. I walked inside, saw my dad eating a snack, I ran up to him, and gave him to biggest hug ever. It completely warmed my heart to know he was home safely and that he was feeling much better; I was so afraid I was going to lose him.
“I love you daddy,” I said.
“I love you too baby girl,” he responded. Before this whole experience I don’t think I truly appreciated my dad and the time we spend together. I took away from this to cherish every moment I have with him or anyone else because I could lose them the next day. That night I could have lost my dad with my last words being to him that I hate him and quite frankly I don’t think that’s acceptable at all. My dad is only here to help me with anything I need and provide for me. Today our relationship is out of this world, I go to him for anything I need, I tell him about everything that’s going on in my life, we have “daddy and daughter days” frequently, and I tell him I love him almost every minute I spend with him.

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