There are two types of heroes: There are genuine heroes, who do things like charge into burning buildings to rescue people, or who brave a hail of bullets to pull a wounded comrade out of a firefight. Then there are small heroes who are able to handle minor emergencies of the non-life-threatening, but still important variety. Most men don't have an opportunity to be the first type. Indeed, many of us wouldn't want to be, since countless such heroes earn the esteemed moniker posthumously. When it comes to being the second type of hero, opportunities abound. It's safer too.
Last night was an unusually cold one for October in central Oklahoma. I had ended my stint volunteering at my church's annual Greek festival, and headed over to my lady friend's house for a visit. She met me at the door, shivering. "Come on in and freeze with us," she invited. As I hugged her I could feel how cold her little face was. "I turned on the heat and nothing happened," she explained.
I followed her in and down the hall where she went to investigate some sort of minor altercation between her college-age daughter, home for the weekend, and the family dog. I stopped and studied the ancient thermostat. It was set to "off".
I know my lady friend well enough not to blurt out, "Did you turn it on?" So, instead, I tactfully asked, "What happened when you turned it on?"
"Nothing. No fan or anything," she said. "I think you have to do something else, but I don't know what."
And there was my cue. Subtle, but there nevertheless. She had communicated that most basic of needs from human female to human male, to wit, "do something." Of course, being a product of our feminist-tainted society, she would never have come right out and said it, but that's what she was hoping for all the same.
In today's world of impossibly beautiful, ninja-trained movie heroines it's a rare site, but in the old movies the leading lady, when faced with a difficult situation, invariably would grab the first sentient being with a penis and demand that he "do something!" To be sure, modern women are much more independent than they once were, but things haven't changed too much, and let's face it -- the vast majority of women are neither martial arts experts, nor practiced engineers. Not to mention the fact that women have an almost primal attraction to males who can fix things.
"Where's the furnace?" I asked.
My lady friend has usually done well fending for herself in the years since her divorce, and I know she likes feeling independent. So it was indicative of how cold her toes really were when she said, without hesitation, "I'll get a flashlight."
The furnace was in an unlit closet in the garage. The instructions for the aging furnace were clearly printed on the access panel, and looked very simple. Unfortunately, above these simple instructions were six paragraphs of safety information under the heading READ THIS FIRST! communicating the impression that any wrong move could result in a catastrophic explosion. The average woman would probably actually read such instructions and logically conclude that the safest course of action would be to bundle up for the night and call someone in the morning.
The average man would completely ignore the safety warnings and get on with it.
I followed the instructions, replaced the access panel, and turned off the light. Through the vents in the access panel I could see the reassuring glow of the pilot light. After a moment's hesitation, the burners lit with a 'whoosh!' "The fan will kick on after the heat exchanger has been warmed," I said. After about a minute, the blower came on and that familiar first-time-the-furnace-has-been-used-this-year smell wafted out of the vents.
My lady friend beamed. "You're my hero!" she exclaimed.
The essence of being a man often boils down to one thing: the willingness to "do something."
