Elysia Hughes

My Hero

'Hero' to me means someone who has helped you somehow. Someone who loves you and you will never forget. My hero is my father. I can barely remember him. He was killed when I was very young. I didn't realize what had happened when he was gone. It was like he was on a trip. Getting older, it began to hurt more. All I had was two pictures: one framed on my wall and the other one taped to the side of my lunchbox. He earned the title of my hero because, from what I have heard from my mother and my father's old best friend, he was always there for anyone who needed it, he loved me, my mother and his friends more than I could imagine, and most importantly, he was loyal with all he did.

One of the most striking things "uncle" Roy, who was my father's best friend, has ever told me, was that my father always cared. He told me that my father would often call him and just talk, and when he was dealing with something hard in his life, my father helped him. It wasn't apparent at the time, he told me, but my father may have just saved his life. When he needed someone, my father was there. My father promised to help him. My mother tells me my father was like this to everyone. Edward Elric, whom I have only ever heard stories about, was a boy that my father cared about too. I have been told of many circumstances where my father, who is my hero, has cared and been there for someone.

I'm positive that I have heard over one thousand stories about how much my father loved me. My so-called Uncle Roy has recited many times the way that my father always had a picture of me on him, and was always talking about me. One of my favorite stories is when my father was starting a fair, scheduled fight, and, in front of most of the state military, he revealed a picture of me when I was just three years old. Even before I was born, I have been told that my father was thrilled about me. I know that if he were alive today, then he would love me more than ever, and we would be a perfect family.

My father loved many people. He was loyal to everyone he knew, as well. I have been told he made a promise to my Uncle Roy, and he never gave up on that promise until he died. He loved my mother more than anyone in the world, and would always love seeing her at the end of his workday. Secrets were never too much for him; a promise was a promise. It was kept, to him. I admire him for this, even though I never really know him. Surely, I will keep this code he established. Loyalty was important to my father, as it is now important to me.

There is so much about my father that I don't know. I wish so badly that I could have known him. Although I have a rough view of him from the stories I have heard, there must have been so much more. I love my father, even though I was so young when he died. More than anything, though, I am glad he is safe now, and happy, watching over his friends, my mother and I. He loves me and I will always love him back.

"Mom? Uncle Roy? Would you like to read my essay before I turn it in?" Elysia asked as she was eating breakfast. Roy and Gracia exchanged glances.

"Sure, honey."

"What's it on?"

Handing identical papers to them, she replied, "My hero."

Gracia starting crying first. Little sobs, wracking her small frame. Puzzled, Elysia hugged her mother.

Silently, tears began to slide down Roy's cheeks. It had been so long ago…Elysia was already in the seventh grade. She couldn't have remembered him. Yet he was her hero, because of what Roy and her mother had told her. The child was clueless, and so innocent. But how she had worded it…

She was telling the truth. Maes Hughes' daughter, whom had never known her father, considered him her hero.

Roy smiled, tears flowing freely down his cheeks now.

I see him in her, he thought, watching Elysia hold her mother, more annoying and loving and necessary for my life than ever.

Getting the paper back the next week, there was an A+ on it and a little scribbled sad face.