Be careful of the pedestal you erect if you’re the hero of your own story. Anonymous
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Our screened porch overlooks the pool and two small gardens. It’s a pleasant place to watch the birds elbow for position on the feeder and listen to their chorale, especially early morning, when mental initiative sleeps in.
Suddenly it hits me, this tune, one of those kind of songs from the past that keep spinning around in your head like a scratched 78 rpm record used to do. You know what I mean.
I begin to hum it, then sing it, joining the birds with my own rendition of Pete Seeger’s hit written in 1955. It was popularized by The Kingston Trio and Peter, Paul and Mary. If you’re under 60, it might not resonate. Here are the words from the first verse:
“Where have all the flowers gone, long time passing.
Where have all the lowers gone, long time ago.
Where have all the flowers gone,
Young girls picked them everyone,
When will they ever learn,
When will they ever learn?”
As the tune makes recurring circuits in my brain, I begin to change the words around, substituting the word ‘heroes’ for ‘flowers’ and finding a place to include ‘mothers.’ Mothers always need a place in everything, not just on Mother’s Day. After all, who would be here without them?
Anyway, it alliterates suitably. And it gets me to thinking: Where have all our heroes gone? Short answer: The Avengers…Endgame.
Not really, of course, it’s just a movie, a movie that cost $350 million to produce, over $200 million to market and a movie more real than we’re willing to admit. Judging from the $2.2-plus billion box office receipts, Disney has succeeded in keeping hero worship alive and well.
They were all there, these heroes of Marvel Comics fame, these icons of our youth when comic books cost a dime and every issue was saved, swapped among friends and ultimately sold for big bucks on e-bay.
Heroes like Iron Man, Captain America, Hulk, Thor (himself a survivor of Greek mythology), Captain Marvel, Rocket, Black Widow and even Ant Man. All the while we were spell-bound spectators in the epic battle to save the planet and even the universe from the evil Thanos. Such is what’s expected of heroes.
While the term, ‘hero’ began in the masculine sense, who can tell who’s what anymore in our culture. So the word is technically correct to use interchangeably between genders, half-genders and who-knows-what-else genders. It embodies such qualities as courage, strength, abilities, achievements and noble sentiments.
The Greeks figured out a long time ago that the universe of mankind needed legendary figures of divine descent, favored by the gods with something more than feet of clay. Unfortunately, even they couldn’t achieve total perfection. Achilles had a bad foot problem. But not so Narcissus, who had his own neuroses, yet whose legacy lives on both as a flower and a preener in all places public.
So much for Greek mythology you say. That was then, this is now. Where are our heroes now? Graham’s gone, Elvis, too. Marilyn was a mess. Lee’s statues have tumbled like Lenin. Roy and Trigger rode off, Arnold got fat, and Trump’s Taj rolled snake eyes. Cash cashed in, but Clint still clings. Who’s left to worship?
Well, there’s still Oprah and Chopra. Who else but the Queen of afternoon TV can create mountains that reach to the heavens, scale them and transmogrify to become a mountain for others to climb? A miracle feat sponsored by the gods of TV, worshiped by the soulless and revered by off-center candidates looking to become President.
There’s no equal in the spiritual realm of iconic worship than Chopra, the Eastern creator of quantum spirituality. This esoteric offering of mind-body healing and the prospect of an ageless life has its origin in the electrical quarks of the universe wherein is stored all energy and knowledge. This ‘metaphysical imagination’ works well for the wealthy.
Aside from all this nonsense, who can stand the test of time as a hero? Mothers, that’s who. Who else can bring forth life, nourish it, endure it and never lose status as an eternal hero to us all? Only mothers. I take some poetic license to conclude with this:
“Where have all the flowers gone, long time passing?
Where have all the flowers gone, long time ago?
Where have all the flowers gone,
Gone to Mothers every one.
Our heroes, kind but stern,
When will we ever learn?”
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Where have all the heroes gone? Nowhere. You’ll find one by being one. Opportunities abound, even if only memories of mothers remain.
Bud Hearn
May 10, 2019