I am a very poor swimmer. No, really. If I lie on my back in a pool and totally relax, I sink. I sink like a rock. Everyone says that I must be doing something wrong, but I do what they tell me. I take a deep breath, lie back, arch my back…and sink. I can swim, but I have never been very good at it. Being out of shape does not help, but my whole “sinking while trying to float” problem really affects me when I swim. This will be important later.

Heroes.

What makes a person do something that people call heroic? Think back to 9-11, the firefighters and police rushed into the burning Twin Towers while everyone else was trying to escape. Their brains must have been screaming, “What are you doing? Are you crazy? Think of your family.” Yet they continued up the steps. Their mission of saving lives and of helping their buddies took over the fear. I am sure they were afraid, but they put their heads down and did their job.

Heroes.

Ordinary people doing extraordinary things. The total stranger who dives into the frozen Potomac River to save people he has never even met. Or the passenger who thought of others instead of himself:

According to the other five survivors, one passenger was pinned to the fuselage of the plane, but continued to help the others reach the rescue ropes being dropped by the hovering helicopter, repeatedly passing the line to others instead of using it himself.
…
As fatigue set in, one of the survivors was too weak to grab the line again, so another bystander, a government office assistant Lenny Skutnik, stripped off his coat and boots, and in short sleeves, dove into the icy water, and swam out to assist her. The helicopter then proceeded to where the other had fallen, and paramedic Gene Windsor dropped from the safety of the helicopter into the water to attach a line to her. While the other five were being taken to shore by the helicopter, the tail section of the wrecked Boeing 737 shifted and sank further into the water, dragging the last survivor under the water with it.

The passenger who had survived the crash and had repeatedly given up the rescue lines to other survivors before drowning was later identified as a forty-six-year-old bank examiner from the Federal Reserve Bank of Atlanta, Arland D. Williams Jr.

Heroes.

The men who landed on the coast of France or who dropped behind the lines on D-Day did so even though they knew their chances of survival were not great. The door dropped on their Higgins Boat and men ran into death at bloody Omaha and countless other places. Pinned on the beach, individuals and small groups decided enough was enough, got up, attacked and died. But not before gaining some ground for the next group. Doing their duty in the face of insurmountable odds. Was it for God and country or Mom and apple pie? Was it just a sense of duty? Was it just because you did not want to let your buddy down? Regardless, they looked at the situation, thought of home, saw their buddy’s dead body, looked at the German line and decided to do their job. They knew they would die.

Heroes.

The skinny 19 year old kid hanging out of the door of his helicopter strafing the enemy must have known he was a sitting duck. As the helicopter banked and turned to make another run, there he was, doing is job. Taking fire and counting the bullet holes after each mission, my dad did his duty. He flew every day that the weather would permit for a solid year in Vietnam with a hard charging, tip of the spear unit. He saw his friends die. He heard the cries of the men on the ground for air support. Their Huey was shot down a time or two. Yet there he was doing his duty.

Heroes.

What makes a person toss caution to the wind, damn the consequences and charge into battle? What makes a person jump into the icy waters to save someone they do not know? How do you stand up and move, knowing, KNOWING that to do so will KILL YOU? People who can overcome their fears and actually think and function at a higher level become heroes. None want to be heroes. They just either want to do their job, their duty, or help their fellow man. But in doing so, when everyone else stood around or hunkered down, they became heroes.

I am not a hero.

In May of 2003 the WunderFamily headed to the beaches of St. Augustine, Florida. I love the beach. I love the waves. I love the sand. This was one of the first times our two kids (we had not had WunderKid3 yet) had seen the ocean. We had a great time playing in the sand and sitting at the edge of the wave reach. The boys were not too keen on the waves and the water, but they would sit with me and let just the very end of the wave hit them. My wife says that I am like a big kid when it comes to the beach. She tells me that she can see a day when the kids are older and she yells at them that it is time to go, that I will be the one to say, “Ah man. Do we have to leave yet?”

Knowing how much I love to play in the surf, she always gives me some time to indulge in my favorite past time while she watches the kids. That day in May was no different.

I was out up to my chest bobbing up and down in the waves. There were surfers out and people having fun with boogie boards. I would catch a wave or two and would end up at the shore, then I would walk back out and do it all over again. I had gotten tired so I was just bobbing up and down with the waves watching the surfers and everyone else have fun. St. Augustine has a very shallow slope to its beaches. As a result going out far enough to see the bigger waves and to be chest deep will put you 150 to 200 feet from the shore. But you can walk the entire way out that far. You go a little further and you hit the deep, deep water. I was near that edge that day. I should not have been out that far, but I had been watching a group of men and a boy ride waves on their boogie boards. I guess we had all drifted further out then we had realized. I could still touch the bottom and my head was above water, but I usually did not go that deep.

There were three men with boogie boards and one teenager who was just body surfing the waves. Each time they rode a wave they would turn around and go back, but each time they got further and further out into the ocean. What happened next still haunts me.

The teenager missed the last wave. He had passed the point where the waves were breaking. I guess he either panicked or cramped up because he called for help. One of the men had just ridden a wave half way to the shore when he heard the cry for help. For some reason, he dropped his board and swam out to help the teenager. When he got there, he too realized he was stuck and he looked at me for help. I was probably 30 feet from them when he called for help. When I saw the teenager cry for help and the man turn to help him, I began inching over to them. Instead of swimming, I was hopping along the bottom. Each hop brought me a few feet closer. I did not want to interfere, but wanted to get close enough to help. When he looked at me and yelled for help an ice cold chill ran down my spine.

This all happened in the span of probably less than 2 minutes but it seemed to take forever. The man and the teenager were not panicking. They were over their heads but were apparently treading water ok enough to stay afloat. They just could not swim back to where they could touch. He looked at me and yelled, “Help!” Here was where heroes are born. This is that one chance in your life to do something to make a difference. I froze. I looked back to the shore. I could see my wife and two kids. I looked at the two swimmers. I suck at swimming and I suck even more when it is in the ocean. I looked back to the shore. I consciously thought that I do not want to die today. I want to grow old with my wife. I want to see my boys grow up. I do not want to die. If I go over there to them I maybe could get one of them to the shallow water, but would I have enough strength to get the other. I was already tired. What if my legs cramped? What if when I got there, they panicked and took me down with them? I do not want to die today.

I decided to wave to the shore for help. I jumped up as high as I could and began waving my arms and yelling for help. I saw two people grab their foam boogie boards and dive into the surf. It would take some time before they got to us. I told the guy help was coming and to hold on. I made a promise to myself that if they started struggling, I would then go help. Until then, I would stay out of it in order to avoid being the third victim.

One of the people from the shore got to me first. She asked in a perturbed voice if I was ok. I told her I was fine, but the other people needed help. She paddled over and grabbed the teenager. I had been hopping over closer to them to the point that by the time the lady got there, I was only 15 feet or so away from them. The older man swam a few strokes to me and I dragged him to where we both could reach the bottom. Then we walked back to the shore.

Everyone on shore was lined up waiting for us. I was out of breath and shaking all over. I know the man and the teenager were as well. I had a sickening feeling in my stomach. I wanted to vomit. After a few minutes, I went over to the man and told him I was sorry that I did not swim myself to save him, but you see I am a bad swimmer and I knew help was on the way. They were from Spain and in broken English he said he understood.

Most people I have told this story to have told me that I did the right thing. Knowing my limitations as a swimmer and that there was immediate help on the way, staying back was the right thing to do in order to avoid being the third victim. But I do not see it that way.

In the movie Saving Private Ryan, there is a scene during the climatic ending battle where Upham, the bookish clerk brought along as an interpreter, is sent down to get more ammo for the 30-cal. machine gun. On his way back into the building, he hears the gunner fighting with a German. Upham freezes. He hunkers down and can not make himself move forward. The guy in the room is screaming for Upham to come help him. Yet Upham does nothing. By the time the German kills the guy, Upham is sobbing against the wall in the stairway. The German comes down the stairs and sees him crying. The German disdainfully walks past him without killing him.

I was very glad they put that scene in the movie. Not everyone is a hero. Sometimes fear paralyzes people. My wife kept asking me why he did not run up there and help his friend. That is just how it goes sometimes. You know the correct course of action to take, but you are so scared that you do not move. It does not make you a coward, it makes you human. But, sometimes you are given the chance to redeem yourself.

Another great movie is the mini-series Band of Brothers. I have it on DVD and watch it each time it comes on The History Channel as well. One of my favorite episodes is the one that centers on Pvt. Blithe. He is separated from his unit on the night of D-Day and spends most of the time asleep in a ditch due to the air sickness pills. Even after that, he does not make much of an attempt to find his unit and when he does rejoin them, he feels guilty for not having fought. During his first engagement with his unit, he suffers a bout of hysterical blindness. Lt. Winters is able to talk him through it and he goes off to fight. Before the next mission, Lt. Speirs tries to give him a pep talk:

We’re all scared. You hid in that ditch because you think there’s still hope. But Blithe, the only hope you have is to accept the fact that you’re already dead. And the sooner you accept that, the sooner you’ll be able to function as a soldier is supposed to function. Without mercy. Without compassion. Without remorse. All war depends on it.

But the very next day, there he is, hunkered down in his fox hole clutching his weapon and crying. But a real hero, Lt. Speirs hops into his hole and begins ordering Blithe. He orders him to stand, to discharge his weapon. It is a great scene. Blithe finally pulls the trigger, over and over and over again. Reload. Do it again. By the time the fight is over, Blithe can function. He is not a hero, but he is functioning again, and that means he is redeemed and will have another chance to prove himself.

Not all of us are given the opportunity for redemption. Sometimes there is only one chance, you either take it or you don’t. I am not beating myself up over my lack of action. I did for many months and occasionally I still have dreams, but I am ok now. My experience pales to men who have seen combat. I can only imagine. My thoughts of dieing, my wife, my kids were all normal thoughts, but I could not get past them to focus on the issue at hand. Thankfully, there are always people around willing to dive into the water, to go into the burning building or to charge the enemy. Maybe one day I will be able to redeem myself. Maybe not. Either way, it is ok. At least my story ended well. I feel for the people who do not act and people die.

I am not a hero. But I have seen some heroes and I am content to stand in their shadows. Bigger men than me died to give me that ability.