Heroes Have a Special Name

Not every ending wraps in gold.
Some walk out strong,
Some don’t grow old—
But every single one was bold.

They don’t wear capes.
They wear the weight.
They leave in silence.
Show up late—
To birthdays, dinners,
first and last.
They live in future,
miss the past.

They pack up young.
They come back changed.
Some don’t return at all.
Some feel strange—
Like time kept going
without their name,
and everything they knew
not quite the same.

They serve in ways
we’ll never see—
Through distance, doubt,
and loyalty.
They hold their fear
behind a grin,
and carry what
they won’t let in.

And yeah—some made it.
Some did not.
Some gave the only
thing they got.
No stage. No speech.
Just silent grace.
Another name,
another place.

Some got yellow ribbons
tied to trees.
Some got gold stars
and folded grief.
But all of them,
in life or loss—
paid a price
we still can't toss.

So if you ask
who wears it best—
the kind of brave
that never rests—
I’ll say it plain,
no need to add:
I call my hero
my Dad.

—Angela Bond