Good and Decent Folks Should Choose Heroes Wisely

It's funny how we define heroes in our society. Not the “ha-ha” funny type, but more the strange kind of funny. Case in point: good and decent folks idolize television stars who spew insults and naughty curse words at each other on so-called “reality” shows that are obviously scripted. And even though they qualify as actors in a sense, in a strange way they are playing the part of themselves instead of some fictional character. Add to that the fact that ratings skyrocket for those shows where people become more and more nasty to each other and what we end up with is the line between reality and fiction being about as clear as the back window of a chicken farmer's pickup truck.

And for whatever reason, good and decent folks cheer when these “actors” make public appearances, treating them as if they had just discovered the cure for colon cancer. Visit enough chat rooms online and you will stumble upon other good and decent folks referring to them as heroes.

I really don't get it. I'm not saying they're bad people. That is another topic for another time. But what I am asking is how in the name of all that is good on the great planet Earth can society call these people heroes. Being a celebrity doesn't automatically make you a hero. Yet for many, heroes they are.

In the meantime the Dance Moms curse at each other and exploit their children; the Housewives of Whatever the Heck City They're In This Week backstab and sue each other; the Breaking Amish kids embarrass their respectable family heritage while they drink, smoke, and talk dirtier than a barroom full of sailors.

And good and decent folks cheer every time they show up in public, virtually worshiping them as heroes.

Don't twist my words here. I'm not against reality shows. Survivor is my all-time favorite, even though there's plenty of folks on the island who haven't played nice over the years. And I like how they pray at the end of Duck Dynasty. What I am concerned about is who we as a society admire and idolize.

Recently I had the privilege of attending a reception where a Medal of Honor winner was recognized. Joe Marm risked his life by sprinting through a hail of bullets during a battle in the Vietnam War to destroy a bunker, thereby saving countless numbers of his fellow soldiers' lives in the process.

My seventeen-year-old son made the comment on the way to the reception that he couldn't think of a higher honor than receiving the Medal of Honor. Well said. Risking your life to save others has to rank right up there with anything else.

After the reception, my sons and I hurried over to get our picture made with a true hero. Mr. Marm was quite the gentleman and engaged my sons in a conversation about the importance of education, which I thanked him for mentioning.

I suspect if Joe Marm were to have his own reality show, it wouldn't get very high ratings. Not unless he broke bad and created a feud with his neighbors or took to drinking at nightclubs while chasing around various scantily dressed females half his age. Or unless he dressed his little daughter in a tiara and encouraged her to break wind every two or three minutes while he and his wife gave each other wedgies without permission. (Okay, I actually like how Honey Boo Boo and her family members snub their noses at the establishment, but I don't consider them to be heroes or positive role models to my children).

If most people caught a glance of Mr. Marm in the airport, few would recognize the man whose personal courage saved countless lives. Most wouldn't even look up from their copies of Celebrity Magazine or whatever else tabloid they were reading to give him a second thought.

But my boys and I would. We would shake his hand (again) and thank this hero for his service. And I believe most good and decent folks would do the same.

Flash update: I have a bone to pick with the family dog

For those of you who may have wondered how our family dog Flash is doing, I have answers. Yes, I stepped back from being a weekly columnist in June of 2011. Two years removed from that and now I'm sticking to facebook and my online blog. Perhaps I will share more about why later. But for now, a few folks have demanded (probably too strong of a word) that I update them about everyone's favorite family dog, our dog Flash.

Quick review: Flash showed up to live with us in the spring of 2010. She is a Treeing Walker Coonhound and Chocolate Lab mix. Life accomplishments to this point include:

1. getting a fish hook stuck in her nose (see picture on my blog at www.rustystroupe.blogspot.com)
2. riding on the top of my truck at 35 mph (against my wishes)
3. chewing up the first 38 chapters of Genesis from our family Bible

One of the requirements for me allowing Flash to join our family back in 2010 was that she be an outside dog. I'm not a fan of animal hair on the furniture nor the smells that people who live in a house with beasts become immune to, but that everyone else who enters therein can sniff out immediately.

It started out well enough with Flash having her own little “home” in the garage but she gradually worked her way into the house from time to time. When we moved houses in early 2012, she was supposed to sleep in the confined laundry room and travel in and out of her doggy door that led to a small lot where she could frolic and do whatever dogs do to entertain themselves these days. I was okay with this arrangement but it was short-lived.

Eventually she worked her way onto the downstairs floor of our home with strict orders never to venture upstairs to the bedroom areas. And a gate at the bottom of the stairs was supposed to ensure her compliance with that arrangement.

But she had her own ideas and found new and creative ways to get around the barrier daily. Herewith, the “arrangement” has evolved to a point where Flash now sleeps nightly at the foot of my bed. And she does so on a padded mattress. So the circle has become complete. In three short years, this doggy child of ours has worked her way from habitating outside in the cold to curling up on a padded mattress in the master bedroom each night. Don't tell me cats are smarter. Flash and I know better.