I have never actively attributed the title “hero” or “role model” to anyone. Unconsciously, heroes and role models have existed in my life, but their influences were passive, if not subtle. I am of the disposition that every instance, acquaintance, conversation, and relationship of my life has shaped me for the better or the worse in one way or another. When I had to write an essay about my hero for a 5th grade private school entry examination, I forced myself to write about Rusty Greer, the oft-sprawled, diving left-fielder for the then competitive Texas Rangers.

He saved many an out for the object of my youthful idolatry: The Texas Rangers

I could think of no one else whom I looked up to except for the red-headed, left-handed, butt-chinned, country-accented middle-of-the-lineup hitter. In all honesty, if not for the matching hair-color, I would have no reason to deem ol’ Rusty any more associable than the rest of the Rangers’ roster. And thus, my first conception of a hero spawned from the necessitation of words, any words, from an essay topic that rendered me taciturn. Devoid of profundity and lacking any notion other than overt superficiality, I clung to Rusty for the majority of my growing up.

The greatest hero of my high school: Ms. Sutcliffe

Now, at the experienced yet entirely sophomoric age of 18, I have an absolute definition of what a hero is to me, and one that will never change. My heroes are those who inspire me to be me. That is, after all, according to my P1, my greatest passion. But from my hero’s and role model’s perspective, it takes confidence and conviction to foster this passion. For that reason, I turn to Margaret Cousins, who nails what it is that we both believe, “In the heat and struggle and exhilaration of forging a life, I Found that their [my professor’s] names and faces, their words and precepts, their values and standards recurred to me consistently…more often than the names and faces of rosy girls with whom I had shared my hopes and dreams and sworn eternal friendship in presumably binding ceremonies” (X947). Ultimately, teachers, mentors, and professors are no more than catalysts. They cannot create, they can only inspire. What it is their job then, is to show the less obvious side of reality, to demonstrate what Robert Frost would call “the road less traveled.” I can tell you now who I will view as the most significant influences on me at this university—the professors. Some less than others, but they will all be my role models and my heroes. As Ms. Cousins writes, “Against formidable odds…they taught me how to think” (X947). That is what heroes do, above all elese.
In my inevitably linked soccer career, I saw both sides of a positive and a negative role model. For three years I played for one of the top ranked teams in the nation. At the same time, I played for a coach that didn’t believe in me, and despite the competition I was facing, I was not rapidly declining as a player. So, after three miserable years with a bitter old man as a coach, I found a new team, and this happened to coincide with my first year on my high school’s soccer team. Both of my new teams’ had coaches that believed in me. I was playing at a slightly less competitive level, but I was playing better. This transition revived my career as a player as I was now achieving more of my potential. Eventually, my interest in the sport waned, but I came to a fuller understanding of what is my definition of a hero—one that inspires a belief in myself. Alan Bean would agree with me, “When I did begin to put out effort I did really well. That was a big eye-opener. Then I began to put out more effort and do more, and maybe that’s the story of my life, because now I realize that you can do what you want” (X977). It is the most tired maxim in the world, but it is so for a reason. Potential is a funny thing and broods the “what ifs” that defile and corrupt our hindsight as we view our current successes as a reflection of our past efforts. With heroes that believe in you, the question is never raised.