Hero in Disguise

Summary: Some time after her older brother died, Jennie Cade's teacher assigned a composition. There was only one thing Jennie knew she could write about.

Hero in Disguise: A composition by Jennie Cade (12-1-67)

My hero doesn't wear a red cape or fly around the streets, searching high and low for someone in need of dire help. My hero isn't six-feet-tall with blonde hair and blue eyes. My hero isn't something a bored sketch artist made up one day while lingering in his studio with nothing better to do. My hero isn't the upstanding citizen of a city with colleges begging him to join their programs.

My hero is something you would never expect in your entire life. My hero wears black T-shirts and a blue-jeans jacket; my hero walks around Tulsa with nothing to do until I come home from school; my hero is my height with black hair and black eyes that are filled with suspicion; heck, my hero couldn't draw a straight line, let alone a whole masterpiece; and my hero has failed most of his classes, so why would any college beg for him to come? Think that's surprising? Listen to this: my hero killed a boy not three years older than him.

Now you're probably imagining a tough hood with a bounty on his head going through town looking for some game. You see this hood breaking into a rich family's house to steal any jewels he can find, so he can trade them in for drugs. You see the son of the rich man coming down the staircase, an expensive robe wrapped around him, flipping on a light switch, holding a baseball bat, and asking who is there. You imagine the hood stabbing the rich man's son to death, and then running from the scene when his parents come down. You couldn't be more wrong.

My hero killed in self-defense when a drunken kid from the other side of town threatened him and his friend. The drunken kid assisted in trying to drown a good friend of mine, and my hero only acted to save both his life and my friend's life. Scared and unaware of what to do, my hero ran away with his friend. They got advice and hid in a church just out of town.

A few days later, while my hero and his friends were gone, the church started on fire. My hero arrived on time and, when he heard the children's screams, he followed his friend into the burning church without a thought of his own safety.

My hero didn't make it out okay.

My hero lay in the hospital, burnt, in a severe state of shock, and facing a life in a wheelchair because he broke his back. But not once did my hero regret what he did. Not once did he wish he hadn't gone in that church. Parents came in to thank my hero for saving their kid, and wish my hero a speedy recovery. But I knew their wishes were to be wasted. I knew this because I sat there by my hero and watched him fade to fate.

My hero is buried in the cemetery of the church that I attend every Sunday for mass. He died from his injuries on a Saturday around seven fifty-three at night. A close friend of mine couldn't handle my hero's passing, so he aimed a loaded gun at police officers…and he was dead before he hit the ground. They are buried close to each other.

I still visit the gravesites a lot, not just after church on Sundays, but all the time—after school, during lunch break, and even when I can't sleep at night. I went through a tough time after my hero died. I had known my hero longer than anyone else and I was closer to him than I can explain.

My hero isn't Superman or some other mythical fiction character. My hero is real, even though he is dead. My hero is my older brother, Johnny Cade. And you wouldn't know he was a hero by just looking at him—like I said before, he was a hero in disguise.