function in society, will need massive amounts of care and therapy … and has severe autism.” I was also told he might not speak or hold any kind of job.

You can imagine just how unbearable it is to hear such news and then look into the big round face of your son and hold it in your hands and cry, as he stares blankly at you. You curse out loud and then when all is said and done, when all the anger and sadness pours out of you like sand through a sieve and you think there is nothing more ... you sit on your couch when everyone is asleep, and you think. You think of what you have to do to help your child, think of what it will take, what it will cost in the end, of how your family and friends will be affected. All of those thoughts race around inside the half empty echo chamber you call your skull, and you ask yourself, “WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?”

Well, the answer is plain and simple. You be daddy. You be what your child needs. When no one is looking, when the clan is fast asleep and all you hear is the rhythmic breathing of your children, you look down at your son who is sound asleep in your arms, not a care in the world because his daddy is holding him. You look down and you kiss his head and you say to him, "I love you Alex. Everyone is wrong." At that very moment he turns and cuddles you. The floodgates open and you quietly cry yourself to sleep, protected by the person you are most worried about: your two-and-a-half-year old son.

I relate that story because almost six years later, I can say that Alex is how I always describe him - he's Alex. Like most kids, he has his issues. If I didn't tell you anything about who he is and why he does what he does, you might look at him a little differently and just scratch your head. He isn't different; he's just my special boy, Alex. I call him special because that day when the teacher called me into the office to show me his work, I knew what a gift I had.

His paper was uncomplicated, and his handwriting was legible for a change. The question the teacher asked was simple, yet very effective in eliciting a response from her class. “Who do you want to be like when you grow up, and why?”

Alex wrote in his best writing: I want to be like my daddy. He is a nurse. He saves people. He is my hero. I want to be a hero like daddy.

I looked at the paper with a tear in my eye and said loud enough for his teacher Mrs. Lippert to hear, "No, Alex, you're wrong. I am not anything near a hero. My hero is YOU."

After years of therapy and treatments, different schools and a lot of work by many people, Alex is where he is now. He is a delightful, if not normally difficult and typical, eight-year-old boy. He still doesn't fully look people in the eye when he speaks to them. Still, he hugs and kisses as he should. He is empathetic, loving and everything a father could want. Speaking about things at times makes the emotions and the past flood into me like torrents in a tropical rain storm. When I look at him, I remember what it took to get him where he is now, and I am as uncertain of the future now as I was then. He struggles with things, but he makes his point very well known. He is loud and often brash and quite opinionated. He is so unlike his dad.

I told Alex not too long ago that daddy isn't a hero at all. Heroes aren't glamorous people who sell their names so money can be had. They aren't the handsome actors and actresses that make movies and TV shows, or the championship athlete who scores with one second left to win a game. And a dad who loves his kids isn't a hero.

Heroes, Alex, are simply everyday people who do extraordinary things. Heroes are pilots who land their crafts safely when crippled and save all those aboard. Heroes are teachers who use skills to teach children no one ever thought could learn. Heroes are those who sit in a lab for years to find new cures for diseases and medicines to help eradicate the dreaded cancer that daddy hates so much.

Heroes are all that, Alex, but for me it is very simply stated. To me, a hero is an 8-year-old boy whom I see every day. He loves his family and deals with what life tosses at him. Alex, I am not a hero. You, my son, you are mine. One day you will read this and understand why.

I am not a hero, Alex. Daddy does his job, as he is supposed to. Grow up and be the one thing I want for you. Be far better than me. No, Alex, I am not a hero at all; all I am … is your daddy.