Not to take anything away from our troops who have answered the
call to duty and country, but heroes come to the aid of others when
least expected.
Not to take anything away from our troops who have answered the call to duty and country, but heroes come to the aid of others when least expected. Often they go unnoticed by the media without fanfare, no ticker tape parade, too often without even a thank-you.
My oldest son Michael is such a hero. Not once, but three times a hero, a champion, and he lives up to his namesake.
It was in the late 1950s when I first heard the song “Michael Row the Boat Ashore.” I still remember sitting in the back seat of the car listening to the car radio over my mother and grandmother’s conversation.
Somewhere between “Jordan river is deep and the river is wide, hallelujah” and “Milk and honey on the other side, hallelujah,” I knew my first-born son would be named Michael.
It would be years before I understood the irony of my inspiration to name my son after Michael the Archangel, the protector of the weak. St. Michael the Archangel, known as God’s champion, rescues the souls of the faithful from the enemy, especially at the hour of death.
When Michael was 5 years old he saved his baby sister from drowning as he pushed her limp body to the surface, holding her head above his until I could reach them both. I was impressed by this brave little boy and told him God would always remember him for this unselfish act.
When Michael was 12 he found himself facing another life-and-death situation – his friend slipped and hit his head before falling into the Detroit River. Again, my son reacted with no thought to his own safety and went in after his friend, saving another life.
As fate would have it, two years later Michael was called to duty again. We had been in Mazatlan, Mexico for less than 24 hours when a man approached me while I was having breakfast: “Are you Michael’s mother?”
Naturally, like most parents of a teenage boy half-expecting to apologize and make amends, I’m wondering, “What did he do now?” Apparently my facial expressions said it all.
“No, you don’t understand,” said the man from Washington. “Your son saved my life. I was drowning when he pulled me out of the water and brought me to shore.”
So what’s in a name? Near-drowning was the common element in all three experiences, so I did a little research.
In Normandy, Michael the Archangel is the patron of mariners. In Greece, it’s said pagans tried to destroy a sanctuary dedicated to St. Michael by redirecting a stream towards it, but the archangel split a rock to make a new stream bed, sanctifying the waters which came from the gorge. The Egyptian Christians have placed the Nile, the river of life, under the protection of St. Michael.
As Michael’s mother, I’m honored to sing his praises. Because of him my daughter is alive, his friend grew into adulthood and a stranger lived to tell the world that a boy name Michael brought him to shore.
Equally proud I am of my younger son, Ryan, who is serving in Iraq and is also a hero.
Though saving a life in a back yard swimming pool may not be as glamorous as the world stage of Iraq, it is equally valuable because it is life and death. There are many unsung heroes among us who deserve a tune of gratitude.
