People call us heroes. At first, I was flattered. I even went so far as to think, Yeah, they're totally right. We risk our lives out there, after all. Isn't that heroic?

The long flights home after rescues are often a good time to think. Usually we're mentally dissecting the rescue – going back through it play-by-play to see if there was something we could have done better.

Other times, though, I get a little philosophical. Don't tell my brothers I said that – they'd laugh, and say, "Gordon? Philosophical? Yeah, right!"

Today, Virgil and I are flying back after a long, difficult rescue. At the end of it, we'd had to press through a throng of bystanders, and had been hailed on all sides as heroes. It's a little hard not to let that go to your head, to repeat after Scott, "Just doing our job," when inside, you're basking in the glory. Yeah, of course we're heroes – we just totally saved the day…hey, how about a round of applause, too?

As Virg and I ride the lift up into Thunderbird Two, though, one figure on the outskirts of the crowd catches my eye, and my mood goes from jubilant to utterly crushed in the space of one heartbeat.

It's a woman, head down, face in her hands, shoulders shaking with broken sobs. A police officer stands by her side, his eyes communicating the sorrow he's barely keeping off his face. I know what he has just told the woman. I had heard the news at the beginning of the rescue – that a police officer had died escorting people to safety. At the time, I'd been so busy that I had barely been able to spare the news a quick pang of sadness. Now it hits me like a ton of bricks, and as Virgil and I trudge wearily to our seats, I think, That man was the real hero at this rescue. Sure, we risk our lives, but he actually gave his life today.

That gets me thinking…if being a hero means giving up one's life for others, then there are all kinds of unsung heroes out there:

The single mother who gets up early and goes to bed late, day in and day out, working long hours to support her kids, setting aside her own desires and dreams.

The soldiers on the battlefield, who put themselves in harm's way to protect their country.

The elderly husband who cares for his handicapped wife 24/7 rather than put her in a nursing home.

The teacher who spends her days teaching and molding children, and her evenings correcting their homework and planning ahead.

The pastor who sets aside his supper to answer a phone call from a member in need of counseling – even though he missed lunch that day.

The doctor who dedicates a decade or more to learning how to care for people's medical needs.

The police officers and firefighters who put their lives on the line on a daily basis.

I could go on…but I hear the ping that announces our final descent toward Tracy Island. I glance over at Virgil. He gave up so much to be a part of International Rescue – actually, so did all of my family. I guess I did, too…I've been told that I could've made it high up in WASP, had I stayed in the military.

So…I guess it's fair to call us heroes. We do risk our lives on a regular basis, after all. But I'm going to be careful not to let it go to my head, since there are so many people out there who deserve the title way more than I do.