by Lydia Bogar
Two weeks ago, the media reminded us of our history–particularly our veterans, living and dead, who gave this country their courage and strength. Among them, my father who joined the American Army in 1939, a year after his arrival from Budapest. I have bronzed in my mind the image of him in uniform holding his DD214, the honorable discharge certificate that entitled him to his prized citizenship.
But I am also thinking about the everyday heroes around us. The ones we need to take notice of and silently appreciate as they weave in and out of our lives. Truly hometown heroes.
The mechanic down the street who replaces a burned-out brake light at no charge, on a Saturday, in the rain.
The nice old guy at the hardware store who laughs with me when I tell a blonde joke. He then easily threads the new line into the weed whacker and thanks me for coming in.
The young couple across the street who brush the snow and ice off the top of my car because I have lost another inch of height since last winter.
The neighbor with the lilting Irish brogue who cuts my lawn and brings in the mail while I am burying my mother.
Heroes like these help to keep our small town safe even as the population doubles and the dump is no longer open for Saturday morning chats. I’ll never be a Townie, not even after 46 years, but I won’t be at home anywhere else either.
Our own “Renaissance Woman,” Lydia has done everything from teaching English to doing volunteer emergency service. She says she “hails from Woosta–educated at BOLLI.”