Who Are America's True Heroes?

WHEN THE WORLD TRADE CENTER was destroyed, the American people suddenly decided that police officers, fire fighters, and emergency response professionals are "heroes". We made that decision collectively, as if in a grand group awakening. A good healthy jolt of fear and rage from the brain stem can work wonders in amending perspective. When the United States lashed out against the Islamic world in angry response, members of the military became heros. How fickle we are, and how short our memories! When Reagan became President, all the hippies cut their hair and became middle aged financial advisors, or corporate spokespeople, complete with family values. They joined in the blule collar hero worship, but in the farthest recesses of their minds must linger dusty memories of cops and G.I.s as villains. That was Viet Nam, the optional war. There is a pattern here. Heroes are people who render indispensable services for which thery are poorly paid. For the time being, that is, until we forget the carnage, and get back to the business at hand: the current Kardashian hair color. The dirty little secret is that in the ever shifting fun house that is the United States of Advertising, our real heroes are those who keep us entertained. We tried to turn teachers into heros, but it didn't stick. We much prefer entertainment to education. Hence the income gap between Justin Beiber and the first grade teacher next door. But we have one final chance at heroic cultural reconciliation: the true heros are minor league baseball players! They entertain us, and they do it at blue collar wages. Firefighers and cops were always heros, we just didn't know it. How long until we again forget? Entertainment is an eternal verity herein the fun house. But most of us are too poor to relate to Justin Beiber. We are, at bottom, a nation of blue coolar workers. Tear down the statues of Elvis and Britney, and in their place let stand some anonymous nineteen year old pitcher, toiling heroically in a ball park with a manually operated scoreboard, two thousand cheap seats, and ads adorning the outfield fences. Who knows? Maybe a firefighter will bring his family to a game. Or better yet, maybe Kim Kardashian will drop by, slumming.