“Who’s your hero?”
They used to ask,
“Mommy!” Some would cry out.
“Daddy!” Some would shout.

“Who’s your hero?”
They used to ask,
“Brett Farve!” Some would roar.
“Brittney Spears!” Some would cheer.

“Who’s your hero?”
They asked,
“I won’t lie, and say it’s my mom.” Some laughed.
“I won’t cry, if I say it’s my dad.” Some reminisced.

“Who’s your hero?”
They want an answer.
How am I supposed to explain?
Where to start, I complain.

“Who’s my hero?”
I repeat.
Rolling the words across my tongue.
Hoping the answer will come.

“My hero.”
I declare,
“Is someone who cares,”
“Someone who is willing to admit they are scared.”

“My hero.”
I decide,
"Is anyone who stands up for themselves,"
"Along with others."

“My hero.”
I close my eyes,
“Is someone who is willing to give their time, or life, or both,”
“For a child, a teen, an adult, or a country.”

“My hero.”
I finally recite,
“Is someone who pushes, pushes for clarity, a better society.”
“Anyone who cares, is willing to accept, stand by, and defend, someone different from them.”